Obscure
by ImSuperSiriusGuys
Summary: Harry Potter is turned into a werewolf at the start of his fifth year at Hogwarts instead of attacked by a Dementor. Draco Malfoy is an unregistered animagus whose family is in the middle of the wrong side of a war. They both could use some help. Hogwarts era. DM/HP.
1. Chapter 1

**OBSCURE**

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**A/N: **_This is written by LoupEtoile. adVENTitiious is kindly beta-reading. :) This is more of an Adventure than a Romance, that being said there will be eventual slash. =) I'm assuming this story will be about 100k words, maybe more, but we'll see, shall we? Updates should be weekly. I'm branching out a bit from my usual style so I hope you all will give it a try! Heavy referencing to the first chapter of Order of the Phoenix in this chapter, but the style and story will drift as the story progresses. Happy reading!_

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The hottest day of the summer was drawing to a close on Privet Drive. Drowsy silence and the hum of crickets hung over the large, square houses like a heavy blanket. The grass was yellowing and stiff, and the air was thick and humid.

The entire neighborhood had taken refuge in the cool shade of their houses. That is, assuming the entire neighborhood did not include a skinny, black-haired, bespectacled boy who seemed to live in the garden of Number Four.

According to the inhabitants of Number Four, he probably didn't count.

Harry Potter's appearance did not endear him to the neighbors. His awkward, lean look of someone who had grown far too much in a very short period of time – his ripped jeans and oversized shirts that hung in odd places on his thin form – most all of them took to pretending he did not exist.

The green-eyed boy in question gave a low hum of thought as he maneuvered his way behind the usual hydrangea bush. It helped him remain invisible to the passer-bys, who seemed to think that his clothing should be an offense punishable by law.

Harry had taken to the spot upon the realization that firstly – it was very hard to see him there. His aunt or uncle would only see him if they were to stick their heads straight out of the living room window and look directly down. The second deciding factor had been that, this way, he could hear the news.

Without the teeth-grinding, and the vicious questions and glares.

He hummed quietly, scuffing the heel of his faded trainer into the hot, hard earth beneath him. He strained his ears to hear the television over the grumblings of his uncle.

"Anyway, it's not as if there'd be anything about _his lot_ on _our_ news-" Uncle Vernon grumbled on about his distrust of Harry's desire to watch the news.

"Vernon, _shh_! The window's open!"

Harry contained a chuckle. A Fruit 'N Bran breakfast cereal's jingle played cheerfully in the background and he sighed, his eyes drifting half-closed drowsily. A spider crawled absently over a leaf to his left and he looked over, smiling at it gently as it made careful work of setting up the edge of a web.

Mrs. Figg, an old lady who lived down the street, ambled slowly past the house. She seemed to be muttering to herself and Harry felt immense relief to be out of view. She was a nice enough lady, for Privet Drive, but as of late she had taken to asking Harry to tea every time she saw him on the street.

That was fine and all, but Harry had already heard the stories about all of her dead cats quite a few times by now. She had babysat him often for the Dursleys when he was younger.

She had rounded the corner and disappeared from view when Vernon Dursley's voice floated out the window once more.

"Dudders out for tea?"

"At the Polkisses'. He's got so many little friends, he's so popular," Aunt Petunia said cheerfully.

Harry nearly choked on his own laughter. Surely enough, Dudley was out somewhere smoking on a street corner, vandalizing another playground, or throwing stones at passing cars and children. The Dursleys were content to remain blissfully ignorant of this however, and Harry couldn't be bothered to correct them.

The seven o'clock news' opening music played, and Harry's ears strained desperately.

Nothing. The opening story was about holidaymakers in airports.

Harry listened for a few more seconds, hoping perhaps something of use might come soon after. Nothing was forthcoming however. Nothing that couldn't be explained, that was oddly brushed off in a Muggle way for simply being "odd" or "mysterious".

He scooted an inch or so away from the window, making sure to steer clear of the spider's web, and began to push himself on to his knees and elbows to crawl away from underneath the window when a loud _crack!_ broke the silence like a gunshot.

Harry leaped to his feat without thinking, his head colliding with nauseating force to the open window. He unsheathed his wand unsteadily, watering eyes shooting from left to right as he looked for the-

"_Put. It. Away!_" Uncle Vernon snarled into the wizard's ear, his meaty hands wrapped around his throat. "_Before-anyone-sees!_"

Harry's head felt like it had been split in two and his vision swam. "_Get off me_," Harry gasped in response, struggling to get away from his Uncle's nearly choking grasp. He fumbled at his fat fingers with his left hand, his right hand still holding his wand aloft as he looked for the source of the sound.

The pain in Harry's head gave a particularly nasty throb and suddenly Uncle Vernon yelped and jerked his hands away from the boy's throat, as if he had received an electric shock.

Panting, Harry fell forward into the bush. He stood up as quickly as he could, and looked around.

There wasn't any noticeable thing that should have caused the loud crack. There were however, very nosy – and seemingly annoyed – neighbors, peering out their windows.

Harry quickly stuffed his wand away as Uncle Vernon called out a greeting, making some odd comment about a car backfiring. Harry walked away while his uncle continued to grin in a sort of manic way until all of the curious neighbors had retreated back behind their curtains.

"What the _devil_ do you mean by it boy?" Vernon snarled at his back. Harry turned to face him curiously, frowning.

"What do I mean by what?" Harry asked in a cold, resigned tone. No conversation with the Dursleys ever went well.

It went one way.

The Dursleys decided something was the case – for example, Harry was lying, Harry was wrong, Harry was plotting something… and so on.

Harry provided reasons and evidence as to why the things they had decided were unreasonable or untrue.

The Dursleys called Harry a liar.

Harry provided the simple fact that he didn't have much to gain by lying.

Uncle Vernon said something insulting, and Aunt Petunia made some sort of agreeable sound.

Harry lost his temper.

Uncle Vernon used this to reaffirm his suspicion of whatever he had assumed Harry had done in the first place.

Harry walked off.

And so it went this time. He knew he would be in trouble now – he had left particularly early in the conversation. Harry, however, was not terribly worried about that as he strolled down the corner of Magnolia Crescent.

Harry vaulted over a locked park gate and trailed toward a familiar old swing. It was the only one left that Dudley and his gang hadn't managed to break yet.

He sank into its low seat, sighing as he mulled over the lack of information he had been getting over the summer.

No one could tell him what was going on. What they thought was happening. What they could tell him was that they didn't know when they could tell him what they knew they could tell him.

Which was not only confusing, but horribly frustrating.

Harry sighed, shutting his green eyes and kicking his feet against the ground to push the swing into motion.

The sun was finishing its setting and ducking low into the sky, a faintly visible moon just beginning to loom.

It was a full moon. Clear and bright in the nearly cloudless sky.

Harry's eyes flickered open and he sighed, wrapping an arm around the chain of the swing and scuffing the toe of his shoe into the ground moodily as he slowed the gently rocking swing to a stop.

He didn't know how long he sat there, musing grumpily over the letters he'd gotten from Sirius, Ron and Hermione, and debating strapping his broom to his trunk and heading to the Burrow on his own, before the sound of shrieking and shouting in the distance startled him from his thoughts.

"_Get help! Dudley get help!_" a teenage boy screamed.

Harry stood upright, eyes wide with alarm as he reached almost subconsciously for his wand, whipping it out.

The shrieks quieted for a moment and Harry took a few steps forward in the direction of the shouts, wand held aloft.

Two dark figures came racing into view in the dark. The moon was now glimmering in the sky, the sun having fallen under the horizon.

"_We can't just leave him!_"

"We'll get him help!" Dudley cried. "Come on, come _on_," he gasped.

"Dudley?" Harry called, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

His cousin ignored him, moving faster toward Harry than he had ever seen before. Just behind him was one of his friends, Malcolm.

"What's happened?" Harry asked the approaching boys who were gasping for breath.

"Piers! He's been attacked!" Malcolm cried. "Do you have a phone or something? We've got to call someone!"

Dudley's eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the sight of Harry's wand.

"Who's attacked him?" Harry demanded.

Malcolm shook his head. "It's-it's some sort of, dog, or wolf, I don't know, we've got to call someone, please," he cried.

"He's not got a phone," Dudley snapped.

"MRS. FIGG!" Malcolm shouted suddenly at the top of his lungs, peering around both of the boys. He bolted forward, shouting anxiously at the woman. "You've got to come, you've got to come now."

"A wolf?" Harry asked incredulously.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Dudley demanded accusingly, taking a step forward and shoving the smaller boy.

Harry reeled back in shock, jaw dropping. "What?"

"_You_ brought that bloody thing here! You've always hated me and Piers and now you've gone and killed him! I see you with your.. your.. _thing_ out in the air, I know it was you!" Dudley snarled, hands balling into fists as he whispered intensely to the boy. If Harry hadn't known better, he'd have thought he saw something wet building up in his cousin's eyes. "_You killed him!_" he roared.

Harry jumped out of the way of a swinging fist. "I didn't do anything you idiot," Harry snarled. "Where is he?" he demanded, stepping forward and looking into the distance. "What kind of dog has got him?"

Dudley was whimpering now, holding his face in his hands and shaking his head. "He's _dead,_" he choked. "It's-it's not a dog, it's not a dog," he gasped.

Harry ran forward without thinking, the frustration from the summer curling up inside him like a flame.

He'd done everything he could – avoided fights, kept his nose clean, just like Sirius had asked. But after three months of hearing _nothing,_ three months after Cedric's death.

No, he wasn't about to stand by and let someone else get hurt.

He raced forward toward where the two other boys had come from. Dudley looked up in a mixture of horror and shock, and Harry heard him give a weak call after him, but he pushed on, wand held out.

A stray dog would not be so awfully hard to deal with.

After he'd traveled some distance in the dark, he heard weak, short gasps of pain. He moved toward the sound, eyes lighting upon a dark figure curled on to the ground.

Harry leaned forward, wand held in his right hand still. "Piers?" he asked as he walked over to the boy's side.

His foot stuck to the ground in a tacky way as he walked forward and he looked down to see what he'd stepped in. The moon illuminated off of some sort of sticky liquid, and the sharp smell of iron assaulted his senses.

_Blood_.

Harry nearly took a step back at the size of the puddle but pressed onwards, moving to the boy's side as he gasped and shuddered horribly.

"Piers? What happened?" Harry asked quietly, in as soothing a tone as he could manage. He looked at his wand, desperately wishing that he knew some sort of healing charm.

He had come prepared to fight. He had no idea what to do at this point.

What kind of dog could have done this?

Piers gasped something unintelligible and Harry leaned down, closer to the boy. His arm shook as he desperately fought for something, some distant memory of some healing charm.

Something, something, there had to be something damn it-

"_Go,_" Piers barely managed to force out.

Harry stared down at him in shock. "What?" he said. "Piers, calm down, it's okay," he struggled to reassure the injured, bleeding boy. He noted a large gash in his side and scrambled to tear off a piece of the boy's pant leg and pressed it on to the wound, applying as much pressure as he could. Piers gasped in pain and shuddered and Harry felt the blood soak through the material and on to his hands. He held back a grimace, his throat tightening.

"It's going to be okay. Malcolm and Dudley, they're going to get someone," Harry said quietly to the shuddering, twitching boy. He was giving small convulsions now, and Harry was beginning to panic. "Don't worry, it'll be all-"

A melodic, eerily familiar howl drowned out his sentence and Harry looked up sharply from the wound he had been trying to tend to, his face paling in the moonlight.

Piers moaned in agony. "_Go,_" he pleaded with the other boy one last time.

Harry lifted his wand, green eyes wide with disbelief and horror as he stared into the darkness around him.

For just an instant, his gaze flicked up to the sky, and to the full moon that seemed to hang mockingly in the sky.

"No," Harry murmured.

It _couldn't_ be.

And then it stepped forward. It was a horrible, grey thing with large, human-like eyes. Its muzzle and front paws were soaked in blood, and thick, furless scars ran down its chest.

Its snout was shorter than most wolves'. It was incredibly large. Standing on all fours it towered over Harry.

The moon seemed to reflect in its horrible eyes and its tongue rolled out of its mouth as it sent a grin right at the wizard.

"Stupefy!" Harry shouted, flicking his wand and pulling himself to his full height.

The unsuspecting werewolf gave a yelp of pain, being blown back straight into a tree at the edge of the park, knocking the breath out of it.

Piers was unconscious now but Harry pointed his wand at his bleeding body. "_Locomotor corpus_." The body shot up into the air and Harry pushed it forward and began to run, his heart pounding in his throat and head.

_A werewolf? In Little Whinging? No, no it couldn't be, it doesn't make any sense-_

He tripped, stumbling over a large stone in the dark playground and cursed as he tumbled to the ground.

A snarl was the only thing announcing the furious predator as it leapt through the air. Harry rolled away from its snapping jaws, drool mixed with blood spraying on to his arm.

He managed to scramble to his feet when something snagged his shoe and he gasped, falling back down, his wand tumbling from his hand.

"_No,_" he gasped, reaching desperately for his wand and yanking his foot away, his shoe ripping off. He silently thanked Aunt Petunia for forcing him to wear Dudley's uncomfortably large shoes – the wolf had only grabbed the empty space at the end of the toe.

He snatched up his wand and leapt to his feet as the wolf spat out the shoe, squaring its broad shoulders and facing him again.

Its eyes were manic with glee and drool dripped from it jaws as it snapped at him from a distance. Harry was breathing heavily as he faced the creature, his wand targeted unsteadily at its face.

"_Reducto_!"

The wolf ducked under the red curse and leapt up through the air. Harry jerked away but the wolf's claws scraped a heavy blow to his side, ripping through his shirt and into his skin.

Harry gasped, hand instinctively clutching the wound as blood began to bead and drip on to the parched grass below him.

The wolf gave some sort of high, chatter-barking noise, wheeling around to face its opponent again.

Harry pulled his hand away from his wound and began to back up, cursing and stumbling slightly as his shoeless foot fumbled on to a sharp rock.

The wolf leapt again, going for Harry's weakened side.

Harry made to move away as the wolf jumped but it grabbed his wand with its front teeth.

He gasped, yanking his wand back with full force and refusing to leave it in the jaws of the beast to be snapped in half.

The grey wolf allowed Harry to pull the wand and itself forward, seeming amused. Harry punched it in the nose, causing it to yelp in shock and release the wand, jumping back.

Harry shook now with every breath as more blood dripped from his wound. His vision swam and his legs threatened to buckle.

The wolf watched him curiously and approached at an almost leisurely pace. Harry took three unsteady steps back for every step it took forward. It narrowed its perceptive eyes, its lips parting to reveal a mouthful of knife-like teeth as it growled.

"Impedimentia," Harry gasped, flicking his wand. "_Reducto_, Petrificus Totalus," he tried again and again.

"Incarcerous," Harry shouted quickly as the wolf stumbled dodging the last spell. It hit the animal solidly in the chest and Harry gasped in relief as it gave a growl of rage, invisible ropes seeming to wrap around it and cause it to crumple to the ground, snarling and kicking.

He scrambled away, eyes searching desperately for Piers, who he seemed to have lost in the fight. Guilt gripped his insides like an icy hand.

"Piers?" he cried, turning around, eyes flitting around the dark, unclear surroundings.

Something heavy and solid slammed into him from behind, pinning him to the ground with a huge amount of force.

Harry let out a cry of shock, his glasses tumbling from his face and his wand flying from his hand.

The wolf on top of him let out a victorious snarl and before Harry could begin to react, dagger-like teeth sank into his shoulder as if it were made of butter.

Harry let out a deafening scream, his left hand desperately attempting to drag himself away from the knife-like claws and the burning, horrible teeth.

The burn from the wound in his shoulder spread like a fire, down into his entire torso and seeming to pump through his very veins. It burned and seared and blood painted the grass underneath him.

As suddenly as the wolf had jumped on him, it was gone.

The weight disappeared and Harry forced himself to his feet, blood continuing to pour from his wound as he looked for his attacker blearily in the dark night.

He looked down to his right to where his glasses sat in the grass, and as he reached for them with his left hand, all of his vision fizzled out and his knees buckled, taking him to the ground with a muted thump.

"Harry?" an alarmed voice hummed distantly in his ears as the darkness swept him away.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

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**A/N:** _Lots of thanks to all of my reviewers, favoriters and followers! __Onwards..._

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Two different, low, rhythmic pulses.

_Thump, thump, thump, thump._

_Thumpa, thump, thumpa, thump._

The noise was the first thing that registered in Harry's mind when he finally came to.

The second thing he noticed was undoubtedly the smell.

Mint, freshly mowed grass. Toothpaste. Milk – who knew milk had a smell? – oatmeal, bacon.

His stomach rumbled at the smell of the bacon and his eyes opened. Almost instantaneously he regretted the action as the sun stung his sensitive vision. He groaned, instinctively reaching to the left where his glasses usually sat on his bedside table.

"Harry!" Hermione cried.

Her voice was incredibly more sharp and clear than Harry recalled it and he winced, flinching back into the mattress and rubbing at his eyes with his left hand. The thumping sound picked up in speed, and it was then Harry realized that it was a heartbeat.

"He's awake!" Ron's voice joined in the painful chorus. "Mum, Dad! Harry's woken up!"

The sound of dishes being slammed into a cabinet seemed to echo up the steps and bang against Harry's eardrums. There was some sharp whispering.

"_Arthur, get Poppy, where is Remus? Dumbledore?_"

"_He'll be here soon, don't worry yourself Molly_-"

Feet scuffing, someone took their jacket off.

How on earth did Harry know that someone had taken their jacket off? He didn't even know that had a sound.

He looked blearily around the bright room and jumped when he felt Hermione pressing something into his hand.

"Your glasses," she said softly.

Harry nodded silently, putting them slowly on to his face and blinking as he peered around. The room was in blurred splotches around him, and his eyes immediately began to ache. He pulled the spectacles off, frowning at them.

When the lenses were moved from his eyes, the world cleared up again.

_Really_ cleared up. He could see better than he ever recalled having seen even with his glasses _on_. He looked up sharply, peering around in bewilderment.

Dust particles danced like magic through the air, twirling and swinging. He exhaled and watched them stir off in the distance, as if startled by his very breath.

"Oh, she mentioned this might-" Hermione mumbled, snatching the glasses up from his lap and waving her wand over them swiftly. "-Sorry, Harry, here, try these," she said, pressing them back into his hands.

He said nothing, mechanically reaching down and putting them back over his eyes.

The world was no longer in painted, blurred splotches, but the glasses seemed to put a wall between him and the world. The dust particles became fuzzy and harder to focus on. Or perhaps it was the pounding in his head that made it harder to focus, or the footfalls that were getting nearer each second, or the incessant rustling as Ron shifted his weight again and again.

"Are you feeling all right, Harry?" Hermione asked quietly, eyes round with worry and...

Pity?

Harry opened his mouth to respond just as he shifted in a way that caused his shoulder to split with pain.

He gasped, falling back immediately and pinching his eyes closed. He stretched up a hand to pat the shoulder tenderly and felt the thick, heavy bandages surrounding it.

His eyes slipped closed as the memories came pouring back from the other night. A heavy knot of stress curled in his stomach as it all began to make sense.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice cut through his thoughts in worry. "Are you all right? Madam Pompfrey!" she cried, jumping to her feet just as the door swung open.

"Harry dear?" Madam Pompfrey's voice was softer and gentler than he ever recalled it being before as she stepped into the room. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes," he answered, slowly opening his eyes again to survey his surroundings.

He was in a dimly lit, large room in an unfamiliar house. There weren't many decorations all around him, but as he took a deep breath, the scent of the place struck some familiarity in the back of his mind.

Madam Pompfrey took a step forward and waved her wand over him. She murmured an incantation at his shoulder and he had the strange sensation of ice running over the skin beneath the bandage.

It faded then, and his shoulder felt decidedly numb.

He blinked, too many thoughts swirling in his mind for him to know what to say. He nodded his gratitude once, settling himself back against the pillow and watching as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley darted into the room.

"Oh Harry," Mrs. Weasley cried, tears in her eyes as she rushed over to his bedside, grabbing his hand and shaking her head.

He swallowed and gave a small smile. "I'm all right, Mrs. Weasley," he said encouragingly, attempting to soothe her in a rasping tone.

Somehow, this seemed to upset her further and she shook her head aggressively, giving a choked sob.

His own voice was surprisingly loud to him now. He made a mental note to quiet it down in the future, and gave her hand a hesitant, reassuring squeeze.

"Mum, come on," Ron said awkwardly. "Harry's all right."

The woman nodded unsurely, wiping at her tears with the back of her available hand. "Yes, yes of course – Harry? Harry, oh you must be hungry, I'm sure. They n-never feed you, those m-muggles," she mumbled in a watery voice, shaking her head disapprovingly. "I'll get you some food, I'll send Sirius up with it in a bit-"

"-Sirius is here?" Harry asked, cutting her off unintentionally as excitement brightened his gaze.

Mr. Weasley nodded in response from where he stood.

Harry shifted his gaze to his friends and offered them a smile. "Hey Ron, 'Mione," he rasped.

"Hey, mate," Ron said suddenly, as if surprised Harry had noticed him.

Hermione shot him a glare that wasn't missed by Harry. He sighed – of course they were fighting. Again.

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat, his gaze locked on to Harry's heavily bandaged shoulder. "Poppy, is it, then-"

"-Yes," she said in a clipped tone, scribbling something on a clipboard with her quill.

"And there's nothing, to-"

"-No, Arthur," she said stiffly.

He nodded, clearing his throat and offering Harry a sad smile. "Harry," he said, drawing the attention of everyone in the room except for the still sniffling Mrs. Weasley. "Do you, remember what happened?" he asked very gently, falling heavily into a seat next to the hospital bed.

Harry looked into his lap, opened, and then closed his mouth. He nodded mutely.

"I got bit," he said monotonously. "By a... wolf."

The entire room seemed to tense at the word.

"I'm a werewolf?" Harry tried the thought out loud.

The room, if possible, seemed to drop in volume even further and Harry let out a low, dry laugh.

_It's actually a bit funny, if you think about it. In an ironic sort of way. I can see the headlines now – Chosen One, Howling Mad! Harry Potter Kills Family of Bunnies While in Werewolf Form Not on the Full Moon!_

Oh, Rita Skeeter would have a field day.

The entire room was silent after his statement except for the light scribbling of Madam Pompfrey on her clipboard.

The mediwitch looked up suddenly, eyes narrowing. "I'd prefer to keep it to a maximum of two visitors at a time for now. Harry needs his rest," she said. "You took more than a Quidditch fall this time Harry. You will not be moving around much for the next few days."

Harry nodded and Madam Pompfrey turned to the still-lingering visitors. "Two visitors. You heard me," she snapped.

Harry felt a swell of gratitude as he glanced to his lap. The pitying glares were strangely heavy, his newfound senses picking up every single one, along with each and every one of their strange, distracting heartbeats.

It was enough to make one rather dizzy.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stood, nodding and telling Harry that they would be back to visit soon. Mrs. Weasley kissed him on the cheek and told him to rest well, and he felt a surge of affection for the witch.

"Nothing's changed, you'll always be the same Harry to us dear, all right?" she said, as if he had been fearing rejection. He didn't question it though, and offered her a soft smile.

He watched her go, uncertainty fluttering up inside him as he frowned at the closed door.

Ron hung around the door, shifting from foot to foot as if unsure if he should leave as well.

"Hey, Ron," he croaked, offering a crooked grin.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione cried, leaning over the bed and embracing him gently, steering clear of his injured side and shoulder. "Oh Harry, it's awful. He won't get away with it, he can't, you'll see. I'm so sorry Harry, we're so sorry," she rambled in a choked voice.

He patted the back of her hair awkwardly. "It's all right," he managed. "I – uh, it's a lot to take in," he said. "Where – where exactly are we?" he asked, sitting up very slowly and ignoring the twinge in his side.

"Grimmauld Place," Ron cut in, taking a few steps toward the bed with his hands in his pockets. "Headquarter of the Order of the Phoenix."

"Oh," Harry said, frowning. "What?"

"The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix," Hermione repeated rather quickly.

Harry arched one eyebrow at her and she swallowed thickly as if nervous about his reaction to what she was about to say. "It's a group that has been dedicated to fighting Voldemort since the first war," Hermione said. "Oh Harry, we wanted to tell you about it, we tried, it's just that Dumbledore told us we weren't to tell you anything, and-"

He had been hiding under windowsills in the _dirt_ listening to jingles about cereal, trying to hear something about what might be going on, and they had been _living_ in the _headquarters_ of the resistance.

"-Wait, how long have you been here?" Harry snarled. Hermione flinched back, eyes wide, and Harry felt the anger flutter in his chest as her pulse quickened and she seemed to shrink into her seat.

_Is she afraid of me?_

"Harry, mate," Ron said, stepping close to Hermione, eyes wide. "We, we've wanted you to be here. Everyone has! But Dumbledore-"

"You've been here all summer, haven't you?" Harry yelled as loudly as his weak voice would allow, his hands balling into fists in his sheets.

"Harry, we're so sorry," Hermione said. "Please don't shout, just lie down, or-"

"-YOU'VE BEEN HERE ALL SUMMER!" he roared, green eyes flashing. His throat screamed in protest at the shouting but he couldn't find it in him to care as the injustice of it all welled up inside him. "I WATCH VOLDEMORT RETURN, WATCH CEDRIC DIGGORY GET KILLED AFTER WINNING THE BLOODY TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT, AND I GET SHIPPED OFF TO THE DURSLEYS TO BASICALLY LIVE OUTSIDE IN THE DIRT BECAUSE THEY BLOODY HATE ME, PICKING NEWSPAPERS OUT OF BINS SO I CAN TRY TO FIND OUT WHAT HE'S PLANNING, AND YOU'VE ALL BEEN LIVING IT UP HERE IN THE _ORDER OF THE PHOENIX-"_

The doors were thrown open sharply and Harry's shouts died in his throat as Sirius and Remus stepped inside, eyes wide with alarm.

A strange scent twined around Remus that Harry had never noticed before, and he blinked several times in quick succession, staring at the man and swallowing.

Remus offered him a slow, crooked smile. "Hello, Harry," he said.

Harry scratched the back of his neck, his cheeks heating up as he realized the man had probably heard every word of his tantrum. He cleared his throat, shifting his gaze.

He looked to the other man who had just entered. Sirius offered him a warm greeting smile, no hint of pity he had seen in the others as he glanced between him and his friends. "Everything all right?"

"Yes," Hermione said quickly.

"Sirius – oh, Sirius, it's good to see you!" he blurted out, smiling warmly at the other and shifting upright as much as his energy allowed.

Four heartbeats, four different patterns of breathing, the noises from downstairs, the rattling of dishes. The hoot of an owl – oh, it's just smacked against the window. Ron was talking, what was he saying? What were those _smells_? Unfamiliar, stressful, floating up from downstairs...

He groaned suddenly, overwhelmed by the speed at which thoughts were flicking through his head. He reached up his hands, pressing them into his throbbing temples.

Sirius and Remus's heartbeats were much slower, easier to keep track of than the rest of the people's had been so far. But there was still four of now, when before there had been only two.

He was angry that they were all afraid and pitying him. He was so happy to see Sirius. He had a lot of questions. He was confused. It was too much, and they all just needed to go away. One at a time – he could do one at a time.

Remus watched him slowly and his gaze flicked over to Hermione and Ron.

"Could you give us a moment to talk to Harry?" he asked quietly. Harry was relieved that for once someone seemed to be respectful of his newly sensitive eardrums.

Ron nodded, waiting for Hermione to get to her feet before heading toward the door.

"Harry," Sirius said warmly, taking a seat by the boy's bed and smiling. "You're awake."

Harry licked his dry lips and swallowed, his throat twinging. "How long was I out?" he croaked, voice even weaker than before. His head throbbed.

The screaming had been a terribly bad idea.

"A few days," Remus said, taking up the seat on the other side of his bed. Harry looked over to him and then down at his hands, nodding slowly.

"I'm a werewolf, right? That wasn't a normal wolf, what attacked me." Harry knew the answer, but no one had spoken to confirm it last time.

"No, it wasn't," Sirius said. Harry's eyes drifted closed. "It was a werewolf." The bespectacled wizard nodded slowly, blowing out a slow breath as he attempted and failed to wrap his mind around it all.

"His name is Fenrir Greyback," Remus cut in, his voice cold with hatred.

Harry opened his eyes, his mouth dropping open in shock. "You mean, the one who-?"

"Turned me, yes," Remus said in a much gentler tone. "He works for Voldemort, Harry. This was... not an accident." Sirius's expression morphed into one of murderous rage as he sat back, lacing his fingers together in an almost contemplative way.

"Oh," Harry said again, blowing out a slow breath and nodding. "So, Voldemort, he, he ordered this attack?" he croaked, unsurprised.

"That is what we believe – yes," Sirius said shortly, raking a hand through his dark black locks and looking to Remus intensely.

Remus nodded and Sirius continued. "As we are aware you just learned – you are in the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters, Harry."

"It's your home, isn't it?" Harry asked, lifting his head. "I mean, as much as the Dursleys is mine," he said. Remus looked at him curiously.

Sirius opened his mouth before shutting it, nodding. "Yes. I inherited it a while ago. I hadn't made much use of it until now, but I'm offering it to Dumbledore as a headquarters. About the only useful thing I've been able to do, actually," he said, his expression morphing into frustration at the end of his response.

"That is not true," Remus snapped. "Just because you aren't out fighting does not mean you haven't been valuable to us all."

For the first time, Harry really looked at his former Professor.

The man had more grey hairs than before and he seemed to have lost a significant deal of weight in a short amount of time. He hadn't shaved very recently, but in contrast to how Harry remembered him, his clothes were clean, new and soft.

Harry could smell the woods on him. He hadn't been living in this house the past few months like Ron, Hermione or Sirius – that much was certain.

"Where have you been?" Harry asked quietly, furrowing his eyebrows in concern.

Remus's eyes widened and he sat back.

"Doing missions for the Order," Sirius cut in in a cold, angry tone. Remus's gaze turned toward him softly and he frowned, looking to the ground.

Harry nodded, dropping the subject. "Why couldn't anyone tell me about any of this? Why didn't Fenrir kill me? If Voldemort wanted me dead, I should be dead."

_But of course, nothing is ever as simple as that for me, is it?_

The two men exchanged an unsure look. Remus frowned and Sirius sighed, a contemplative look on his features.

"Dumbledore requested, that you be informed as little as possible," Sirius began slowly.

Harry's green eyes flashed and Sirius continued quickly, "Because he felt that the more you knew, the more of a target you were."

"Clearly I was already a target," Harry snarled. "I've been a target since I was _born_."

"Not a death target, Harry," Remus corrected.

Harry nodded, looking between the two curiously. "What, then? What does he want? Does he want something from me?"

Sirius opened his mouth and Remus shook his head.

"We have our suspicions Harry, but nothing is concrete," the sandy-haired wizard said. "That's enough about that for now."

Sirius nodded and Harry glared at the two of them, not ready for the subject to be closed.

"We'll tell you more, if we can, when you are walking around again," Remus said firmly. "You are handling this all remarkably well Harry, but that does not mean you are ready for the mental stress."

"I'm fine," Harry insisted, struggling to sit up and ignoring the shooting pain in his side. "I want to know."

"Aren't there other questions you might have right now, Harry?" Remus asked gently, gaze flicking to his shoulder and then back to his face.

Harry's stomach curled, face paling as what he meant registered. "Oh," he said, hoarsely.

"Oh."

He slowly laid back, his hands beginning to shake as the memories flooded back.

The horrible burning pulsing through his veins and the snap of his shoulder's bones beneath the giant wolf's jaws. Blood everywhere and-

"Piers," Harry blurted, eyes wide with horror as he sat up too quickly, his side ripping painfully.

He gasped, touching a hand to the bandages that began to soak through with blood.

Sirius stood, whipping out his wand and flicking it. A small brown vial flew out of a nearby drawer and into his hand and he moved forward. "Harry, I need you to lie still," he instructed.

Harry nodded weakly, his head feeling oddly heavy. Sirius pushed up his shirt, gently undoing the bandages and dripping a few drops of the potion into the newly opened wounds.

Harry gasped in pain, hissing and pulling away. Remus was at his other side however, holding him steady as the stinging potion bubbled in the wound, quickly knitting the skin back together.

"That's a good sign," Remus said. "If esscence of dittany is working on them again."

Sirius nodded mutely, waving his wand and summoning clean bandages.

Remus took over, clearly having more experience with them, and began gently bandaging up his side once more.

Harry's breaths came short and labored as the pain slowly began to fade.

"Try not to move so quickly again," Remus instructed quietly. Harry nodded shakily, swallowing dryly and his eyelids pulling rather heavily.

"Piers," he croaked again.

Sirius frowned. "What's Piers? Or who?"

Harry licked his drying lips, forcing his aching eyes to stay focused on the two men. "Piers is one of Dudley's friends," he continued. "He was attacked, so I went to help, that's when I..." Harry said.

Remus and Sirius exchanged a dark look and Harry's throat tightened.

"Piers, is he-is he-"

No answer was forthcoming and Harry's vision spun for a moment.

"Tell me, please," he begged.

"A muggle boy was found at the attack site," Sirius confirmed finally after a long, contemplative stretch of silence. "It was too late when he was found."

Harry's eyes drifted closed and he gave a faint nod. "Oh," he whispered.

"It is not your fault Harry," Remus said firmly, extending a hand on to the boy's uninjured shoulder.

"If I had gotten there sooner," Harry mumbled, shaking his head.

"No," Sirius said. "You had no way of knowing. The fact that you went out to save him at all is more than any average man would think to do. He was a muggle, Harry, even if he had lived, the odds of him surviving the first transformation were significantly low."

Harry's eyes opened wide and unfocused as horror clutched his chest. Remus shot him a furious look and Sirius just seemed to have realized what he had said, eyes widening slightly.

"Harry, I didn't mean-"

"-Sirius, would you go get him some water?" Remus snapped.

Sirius scowled but nodded, slowly getting to his feet.

"It's fine you know," Harry mumbled when the door shut behind the taller man. "I'm not that bothered. It was just, surprising to hear it, like that-"

"Sirius has known me and my affliction for over fifteen years, Harry. He is so familiar with it all that he can be blunt without meaning to."

"No, no," Harry insisted. "I think it's better. I mean, Mr. Weasley won't even say it, and that's..."

"Worse, yes. There is something to appreciate about Sirius's attitude toward it all," Remus said fondly, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

Harry closed his throbbing eyes and yawned, eyes half-lidded as the door swung back open.

"Mrs. Weasley would like to know if you are hungry, Harry," Sirius said stiffly as he entered, setting a glass of water on the nightstand next to the bed.

Harry shook his head. Remus smiled at Sirius and he returned the look, glancing to Harry whose eyes were drifting closed.

Harry's eyes snapped open again sharply and immediately began to droop closed as he repressed another yawn.

"You can sleep, Harry. We'll both be here when you wake up again," Remus said reassuringly.

Harry nodded. "Tell Ron and 'Mione I'm sorry for yelling?" he asked quietly.

"Of course," Sirius said, standing and heading for the door. Remus followed after him slowly.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

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**A/N: **_Updates will be every weekend from now on, so check back Friday-Sunday. I updated early because I was inspired by all the kind reviews! Onwards..._

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When Harry woke again, Madam Pompfrey was back, lecturing his half-asleep self about tearing open his side the "minute she turned her back" yesterday.

He sat up slowly, his body still aching but the pain having subsided significantly.

She pushed him back down into a laying position, grumbling and forcing a potion to his lips.

He coughed and nearly spit it out at the taste but managed to swallow it under her threats. She immediately handed him a glass of water and stood, foot tapping impatiently as he took a small sip.

"Will I be going back to school?" Harry asked her quietly after he took a few more drinks of the water, surprised at how much it soothed his aching throat.

She took the empty cup, refilling it with her wand and setting it on the nightstand.

"Of course," she said simply.

"I thought, w-" he hesitated, chewing on his lip, "-werewolves, couldn't go to school. I thought Professor Lupin was the only one who ever had."

Madam Pompfrey nodded. "You are not a registered werewolf, Harry. Order members found you. At the moment, yes, you are expelled-"

"_-_What?"

"-But Professor Dumbledore is working to resolve that. I believe he is going to talk to you about it before your hearing."

"My hearing?"

Madam Pompfrey sighed impatiently as she undid the bandage on his side, gently checking and redressing the wound. "Yes. You did underage magic, Harry. That is an automatic expulsion, what with the amount and nature of the spells you used."

"But I was being attacked by a werewolf!" Harry protested.

Madam Pompfrey shook her head, pulling his shirt down over the bandages and looking him directly in the eye. "It's best if you learn that is not something it is smart to go shouting about, Harry," she said in a gentle but firm tone.

Harry frowned. "I don't understand."

She sighed, closing her eyes and turning away. "Lycanthropy is an infection, Harry. A disease. It is not the fault of the infected. It does not change you-"

"-I know all of that. Remus is one of the best men I know," Harry said, jutting out his chin defiantly.

She nodded, turning back to face him. "Exactly. And Harry, though quite a lot of us know that – the rest of the wizarding world has not come to terms with it just yet."

Harry frowned. "You mean, Professor Dumbledore wants me to not tell them what happened?"

"Things would be a lot harder for you Harry if the Ministry were to find out. You would be classified as a creature, you would lose many rights to life. It is not something to be said or taken lightly. If you have any ambitions or sense to you, you will keep it to yourself."

Harry blinked, nodding stiffly. "So... I'm going to lie, at this hearing."

Madam Pompfrey pursed her lips. "I don't know what it is that Professor Dumbledore has planned, but I think it is a very wise idea to learn to keep the word 'werewolf' off of the tip of your tongue. The Minister is dying for a reason to expel you and fire Dumbledore. Do not give him anymore."

"He couldn't fire Dumbledore because of me," Harry protested.

"You're right, he could have him and the rest of us arrested," she snapped, soft eyes flashing as she put a hand on her hip. "You listen, Harry Potter – this is bigger than yourself. Keeping this secret is something that puts all of us at risk. Now, we do this without question. Everyone here cares about you. But you better have the sense to repay the loyalty of these people with some silence."

Harry opened then closed his mouth, nodding slowly and looking to the wall past her.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

Her hand fell from her hip. "Don't be sorry, dear. Just keep in mind that it's important. And make sure you're resting."

"Can I get out of bed today?" Harry asked anxiously, lifting his gaze back to her face.

She frowned, pressing her lips into a thin line contemplatively.

She nodded finally, after a long stretch of silence. "As long as everything stays relaxed, I think it's good to get you moving again. The scratches are healing well."

Harry nodded and sighed as she stared at his shoulder.

"I need to redress the bandages, Harry. I'm going to have to tear off the sleeve of this shirt, if that's all right," she said gently, pulling out her wand.

He nodded mutely, looking away as she gently ripped off the top of the sleeve and surveyed the lightly bloodied bandages.

She undid the top bandage and Harry let out an involuntary snarl of pain, his eyes squeezing closed and his teeth gritting.

She cast the numbing spell again, but the affect was not as strong.

"That spell doesn't always work for bites of this nature," she said gently. "Don't worry, I'll be quick."

Harry nodded tersely and she set to work, waving her wand over the area. Harry refused to look over, not wanting to see the undoubtedly scarred and ruined skin. He bit his lip, swallowing as the memories flashed behind his eyelids.

"It will scar," she said. "As will the scratches. I'm working on a potion – I have been for many years, for Remus – that will help them to fade. Would you mind if I test this one on you? I believe it will work best when they are fresh. I promise it is safe."

Harry nodded quickly. "Yeah, of course," he said in one breath.

A few cool drops of potion hit his shoulder and burned like ice for a moment. The feeling intensified and he gritted his teeth,

"Is it hurting?" she asked, quill hovering over her clipboard.

Harry blew out a slow breath. "Just a bit," he mumbled as the sting faded into a chill. "It's really cold," he added.

She nodded. "Thank you, Harry," she said, peering over at the wound as he took steadying breaths.

She began reapplying the bandages.

"It doesn't hurt so much now," he said quietly, gratitude in his tone.

"Really?" she asked. "That wasn't supposed to happen. Interesting."

"Is it bad?"

"I'd assume not," she said dismissively. "Interesting nonetheless," she said as she wrapped the final bandage, patting the side of his arm gently with a smile. "Well, you're all done. I've got to be going now. Remember, only small walks, try to keep the stress levels low, rest when you need to – and please keep drinking water. You were quite dehydrated when I got here."

He nodded. "Thank you, Madam Pompfrey," he said. She smiled at him warmly as she collected her things and nodded, heading out the door.

"Poppy," Remus's voice outside alerted Harry to the newcomer.

"Hello Remus," she said warmly, brushing past him and down the steps.

Remus stepped inside and offered Harry a greeting smile. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better, actually," Harry said, gesturing to the chair to the right and pushing himself carefully into a sitting position. "Madam Pompfrey said I could walk around some today."

Remus nodded. "Harry, I just wanted you to know that if you have any questions about this, it's been a part of my life for almost as long as I can recall. I'm always willing to talk about it if there's something concerning you."

Harry nodded slowly, casting a frown over at his bandaged shoulder.

"Does the scar, the original one – does it ever fade?"

Remus shook his head slowly. "No. Poppy has been working on a solution to the scarring of werewolf attacks for a very long time. She's gotten rather good at the scratches – the ones on your side I doubt you'll be able to see in ten years-"

Harry tried not to wince at the timeframe.

"-But the one on your shoulder, I'm afraid, would probably outlast the scar on your forehead."

Harry nodded. "Right. I expected that," he said simply. He pushed the blankets off his lap, the heat becoming sweltering. "You and Sirius, you said, this wasn't an accident?"

Remus's expression darkened. "No, Harry. Fenrir... is not like the rest of us. He never attacks anyone on accident."

"You think Voldemort wanted him to attack me?"

Remus shook his head. "It's hard to say. The timing is certainly suspicious-"

"-What do you mean?" Harry cut in, eyes narrowed.

Remus blinked in surprise. "Oh, I assumed you had been told. Right – well, the Order has been keeping tabs on you all summer. It just so happened that at the time of Fenrir's attack, the man currently on watch was...missing," Remus muttered, fury morphing his usually gentle features.

"You guys have been watching me? Why?" Harry demanded, eyes narrowed.

"Dumbledore."

Harry nodded, flexing his jaw and sighing. "Right," he said. He sighed again. "Right."

"Would you like to come down for lunch?" Remus suggested, changing the subject. "The noises - and smells, especially - will be a bit overwhelming... But they are not something that go away on their own. It's a matter of practicing to ignore them. It's best to get as used to it as much as possible before returning to Hogwarts."

Harry nodded, shuddering at the thought of the hundreds of heartbeats, the conversations, whispers, shouts, the owls, the clinking of dishes that were so easy to ignore with his old sense of hearing, in the Great Hall.

Remus smiled sympathetically. "It isn't as bad as it seems when you're laid up in bed in pain," he said, walking over in case Harry needed help getting to his feet. "It'll be second-nature to ignore it all when you're feeling better."

Harry swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood shakily, his legs feeling heavy as he finally stood on them again. His vision spun around the dimly lit room, and he swayed in place.

Remus touched his elbow to help him balance and Harry nodded his thanks, blinking until the black around the edges of his vision faded.

Remus pulled his arm back and headed toward the door, pulling it open. "If you see the house-elf, by the way, just ignore him," Remus advised. "He didn't live the best life with the Blacks, and he's more than a little mad after living here for a good number of years with the portraits."

Harry nodded, walking as quickly as he could toward the door and taking a deep breath.

Sounds echoed around the house. Something was thumping in an upstairs wardrobe, a rat was skittering inside the wall. Someone – perhaps the house-elf Remus had mentioned – was muttering to itself about blood-traitors. Sirius was downstairs. Harry found he could smell him – he smelled most like the rest of the house.

Smells were a funny thing. They were clearer than sounds, but they made less sense.

"Your sense of smell is something that you never really had a lot of before," Remus answered his unspoken question. "Therefore, even though some scents are familiar – things like foods that you like – smelling things like individual people is something you've never experienced before. It's something you'll come to understand eventually. Try not to sniff people though," he suggest helpfully.

Harry nodded. "Why would I sniff them?"

Remus shrugged. "Impulse when we are around a large group of people. We like to keep track of the people most important to us. I think it's an attempt to commit it to memory. Sort of like how we remember people's faces, but on a more subconscious level. It's normal, but, not well-accepted," he explained as he started down the steps.

Harry nodded, following after him curiously and drawing in the scents.

Molly was making a stew.

_Beef _stew. Beef sounded good.

Harry felt his stomach twinge with hunger and he hopped down the stairs a little more quickly.

The black-haired wizard noted it was surprisingly quiet. Someone downstairs wasn't breathing – there was one less set of air intake than there was heartbeats.

Harry hopped down the final step after Remus and headed down the dark hallway and into the quiet dining room.

"Remus!" Sirius cried in greeting, a smile lighting up his features. Harry followed in hesitantly, trying to keep his nostrils from flaring at the heavily concentrated smells.

"Harry!" Sirius greeted again, flashing the boy a smile. Remus patted Harry on the shoulder reassuringly and walked around to Sirius's end of the table, sitting down next to him.

"Harry, you're up!" Hermione cried in delight, smiling from where she and Ron sat. She ushered him over and he ignored the curious stares of a few occupants of the room and slid into the seat, smiling.

Mad-Eye Moody's false eye was focused on him particularly intently, and Harry felt himself shift uncertainly just as Molly Weasley stepped into the room carrying a large pot.

"Oh, Harry! You're joining us! Fred, grab another bowl," she instructed one of the twins that Harry had just now noticed.

Fred stood up, smiling toward Harry and tossing him a mischievous wink. "Of course Mother," he said cheerfully, heading into the kitchen.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, offering her a smile.

"Hey Harry," Ron greeted. Harry jumped, the sudden sound not being expected as he attempted to keep tabs on every heartbeat in the room.

"Hey Ron," he greeted, turning to face him and Hermione.

He suddenly understood what Remus had meant. He was getting the slightest hints of their individual scents but they were just too far away. Perhaps, if he leaned over the table and got a better smell, then-

_No, no, that'd be weird. Just stay in your seat._

"Nice to meet you Harry!" a warm, unfamiliar voice greeted him from behind. He jumped again, turning to face the person curiously.

She wasn't overly tall, and she had bubble-gum pink hair. She looked to be just a few years older than Harry.

"My name's Tonks. I'm part of the Order," she said, sitting down in the seat next to him. "I'm also Sirius's cousin," she added cheerfully.

She smelled like her hair, cloying bubblegum. Harry cringed, nodding to her stiffly as he began to scoop his food, avoiding using his injured side as much as possible.

A tall, intimidating man with dark skin at the end of the table was watching him carefully, yet another face that Harry didn't recognize.

He lifted his gaze directly to the other man's, engaging in the staring contest he seemed to want to have.

The man looked away shortly and Harry glared at him.

"This is Kingsley Shacklebolt," Mad-Eye barked suddenly, jerking Harry's attention to him. "And I'm Alastor Moody. Kingsley and Tonks are aurors," he said.

Harry flinched, eyes wide. Did they know what he was? They must, if Tonks had spoken to Madam Pompfrey-

-It was also undoubtedly weird to be meeting Mad-Eye for the "first time" after knowing him an entire year.

"Relax boy. Their first loyalty is to the Order, not to the Ministry. You're safe. The vigilance is respectable, however," he said with a nod to Harry's tense posture.

Harry didn't have a lot to say to that so he nodded and picked up his fork and began to eat, picking around the vegetables subconsciously.

The meat was incredibly soft and tender, which was usually a good thing, but Harry found it somewhat lacking. He wished there had been a bit more to chew. Just a bit of toughness to it.

Arthur started up a light conversation about Quidditch at the front of the table which quickly became heated as Sirius demanded to know everything he had missed in the sports world while he was in Azkaban. There was much debate over what teams had done well.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked as Ron scooped up bite after bite of the stew, swallowing happily.

Harry shrugged and winced as his shoulder gave a nasty throb. "All right," he forced out, resisting the urge to touch the wound. "Been better, but Madam Pompfrey is expecting a great deal of improvement in the next few days."

"I think you're handling this all really well, mate," Ron said encouragingly. "You know, there are people who when they woke up and found out they'd been turned, would beg to die, and here you are-"

Hermione stomped noisily on to his foot underneath the table, her eyes wide in rage.

Harry scratched his head uncomfortably and blew out a nervous breath as his mind flitted to what it'd been ignoring.

The transformations.

He was a werewolf – sure, okay. That's easy to say when barely anything had changed. But the transformation, that was what the entire disease was named after, wasn't it?

He had read about it before, and was quite sure it was immensely painful. Intent on ignoring further speculation, he reached over to the pumpkin juice bowl and picked up the ladle.

He let out a sharp, noisy yelp of pain that startled the rest of the table into quiet as they all turned to face Harry, who had dropped the ladle across the table and was clutching his hand, eyes watering.

"Harry?" Molly said in alarm, standing up.

"It's the ladle, it's silver, I'm sorry. Remus doesn't like pumpkin juice, I didn't even think," Sirius muttered, standing up and walking over. He picked up Harry's cup and dunked it into the bowl, retrieving a dripping glass of pumpkin juice and smiling encouragingly as he set it down in front of the other.

He picked up the ladle with a look of distaste.

"What are you gonna do with 'at?" a man who looked a bit like an under-cared for weasel asked, eyeing the glittering silver greedily.

"Throw it away," Sirius snarled. "You go looking through my trash Mundungus and I'll let Kreacher have his way with you, you vile piece of _shit_," he snarled.

Mundungus flinched into his chair, eyes wide with horror as he looked from person to person, hoping to find a sympathizer.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, surprised that Molly at least hadn't corrected Sirius's treatment of the man. Kinglsey cleared his throat and the conversation about Quidditch began again – rather half-heartedly as Sirius sat back down refusing to say a word, instead glaring daggers into Mundungus.

"I don't understand," Harry mumbled, tapping his finger to a beat that matched the heartbeat of three occupants of the room. "Why does everyone hate him? Who is he?"

"Mundungus Fletcher," Ron whispered. "He's the one who was supposed to be on watch, when, you know."

"Oh," Harry said. "I don't blame him, I didn't need someone watching m-"

"-That's not the point Harry. He's a member of the Order, and he was told to watch you. He left because he saw Fenrir, and he comes back to find you nearly mangled to death. What he did was _not_ okay."

Harry sucked on his front teeth contemplatively, resisting the urge to snap at the girl. "I don't need protection. If Dumbledore was so sure something like this was going to happen, he shouldn't have made me stay at the Dursleys to begin with," he said in a low, cold tone.

Hermione went silent.

"Is your hand all right?" she asked quietly after a moment.

He glanced down at his palm, the Black insignia burned into it.

"It's fine," he lied.

She frowned, leaning forward and looking down the table at Remus meaningfully. Harry glared at her. "I said it's fine, Hermione," he snapped.

"Harry if you're burned you should get it checked out," Ron said nervously. Harry shot him a hateful glare.

"Some friend you are," he spat. Ron flinched back, sighing and poking at his food.

"Are you going to eat your carrots?" he asked after a moment, peering at Harry's plate.

"No."

"Could I-?"

Harry pushed the plate over to the boy, standing up sharply, still holding his hand.

"Thank you for lunch, Mrs. Weasley," he called over to her, forcing a smile as he turned to stomp up the steps.

"You'll want to take care of that silver burn," Mad-Eye said at a casual volume. Harry froze at the bottom of the steps, turning to him and nodding. "They can be toxic to werewolves, if left untreated for too long," he said with a wink of his real eye.

Harry nodded. "Right, thanks," he said briskly, and took off up the stairs at a speed he didn't think he was quite safe to be moving at yet.

He slammed the door of his room shut behind him to drown out, if even momentarily, the sound of their quiet arguing downstairs.

His stomach was in knots as he paced, gingerly touching his burned hand every few seconds and flinching.

Nice of Mad-Eye to tell him that and not give a damn clue as _how_ to take care of it. Where was Remus? What was he doing?

What was Harry supposed to do?

He felt as if he might be sick and he gripped the bedpost for support as his legs swayed beneath him.

The door swung open and his head shot up, Remus was hesitating in the doorway, looking concerned.

"Remus," Harry greeted, shoulders sagging in relief. He didn't think he would have handled Mrs. Weasley's doting too well right now.

"Mad-Eye was kidding," Remus offered calmly, a small frown turning the corners of his lips. "A poor joke."

Harry laughed without amusement. "You could say that again."

Remus smiled wryly. "You should treat it like a normal burn, though," he said, walking forward and holding out his hand expectantly.

Harry sighed, reluctantly placing his hand palm-up to the other wizard. Remus nodded.

"It's not so bad. But you should learn to be more careful. You can sense the silver, if you had been reaching for it a little more slowly. It's usually enough of a warning for us to move away."

Harry nodded mutely.

"Dumbledore will replace all of the silverware at Hogwarts with false silver, don't worry. He did so for me and I have no doubts he will for you as well."

"The Prophet's gonna find out," Harry said monotonously as Remus summoned some burn potion and handed it to him.

Remus nodded after a moment. "Perhaps. But you can always write off the media's word as rumor. No one will take it seriously enough to write you up."

"And if they do? Fudge hates me."

Remus sighed, frowning and looking away. "The wizarding world doesn't take kindly to us Harry, I won't pretend. Dumbledore is the only man ever to have hired me, despite my years of schooling and O's in every subject," he said bluntly. "It is not that there are laws against hiring us in many cases, as those have been abolished in the past few years. It's more to do with the fact that we must state to our employer what we are before listing anything else about ourselves. The individuals in the world are incredibly..."

"Blind?" Harry asked, sitting down in a chair by his bed.

"I would have said cautious," Remus said with a small smile.

"You're not dangerous Remus," Harry said dismissively. "You're one of the best men I've ever known. If you believe any of that rubbish about yourself – that werewolves are dangerous, or don't deserve something better, then is that how you feel about me?"

Remus's jaw dropped a bit and his eyes widened as he blinked several times. "Of course not, Harry," he said.

"So we have a... what was it, furry little problem? Yeah. But it only becomes an issue once a month. It's not who we are," Harry said firmly.

Remus smiled faintly. "I know, Harry. I know."

Harry nodded as he rubbed the burn salve into his palm, sighing in relief as it took effect. "Thank you Remus," he said sharply, looking up.

The werewolf raised his eyebrows in surprise. "For?"

"For being there, for me," he mumbled. "I don't know..."

Remus extended a hand, setting it on the boy's shoulder and offering a smile. "Nothing to thank me for Harry. Sirius and I – we'll always be here for you, all right? You may not have one with the Dursleys but you've got a family in us, as long as you want it."

Harry nodded and Remus turned toward the door. "Going to head down and finish my lunch. We're having steak for dinner, Molly's trying to be thoughtful," he said with a smile.

"Does it hurt, Remus?" Harry blurted without thinking, looking up and swallowing hard, green eyes wide.

Remus paused, mouth falling open for a moment. "The transformation," he stated.

Harry nodded.

Remus paused and stopped to lean heavily on the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighed.

Harry bit his tongue, hands balling into fists as he looked down at his feet.

"I'm sorry Harry. Yes, it does."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked," Harry mumbled. "I knew that, I just... I don't know," he said, heaving a deep sigh and looking up to the ceiling.

"Nothing to be sorry for," Remus murmured. "Try not to think about it. There's nothing to do in the way of preventing it, and you've got another few weeks before that's something to worry about. Severus will be making you Wolfsbane, anyway. I believe a great deal of the pain is in losing the control, which you will never have to suffer."

Harry nodded. "Okay. Thanks. I think I really am going to try to nap," he said finally, standing up and moving into his bed with a sigh, not bothering to pull the blankets over himself.

Remus nodded. "Should I send Sirius up to get you for dinner?"

"Yeah, thanks," he mumbled, burying his face into the pillow.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

* * *

**A/N:** _Onwards..._

* * *

"Harry?"

Harry jerked upright, gasping in pain as his side and shoulder ached in protest. He looked over dazedly to the source of the voice, seeing a concerned-looking Sirius hovering by his bed.

"Oh, hello Sirius," he mumbled, sinking back on to his bed with a yawn.

"Are you all right?" he asked, stepping forward and peering over at Harry's side where he had reopened his wound the other day.

"Yeah, just surprised me," he murmured, rubbing at his face with his left hand.

"Feeling any better?" he asked conversationally, setting a plate and a glass on the nightstand next to the werewolf.

Harry sat upright again as the smell assaulted him.

Steak. When had steak ever sounded so good?

He reached over, snatching up the plate and fork and stabbing the piece of meat aggressively, picking it up and taking a bite out of it instead of bothering with cutting it.

Sirius arched an eyebrow. "Taking that as a yes."

Harry swallowed. "Oh, yes! Thank you," he said, setting the plate back down reluctantly. "Sorry, I - was just hungry."

Sirius nodded and waved a hand dismissively. "Remus got like that sometimes," he said casually. "Especially when there was rare meat around."

"Rare?" Harry asked, looking down at his plate curiously. "Oh."

"Mrs. Weasley. She thought it wouldn't be a bad idea, with two werewolves in the house," Sirius said with a playful smile.

"Why are you the only one who can talk about it like that?" Harry asked curiously, reaching for his knife this time and carefully beginning to carve the meat into pieces.

Sirius laughed. "The others will come around, Harry. They don't think anything about it when it comes to Remus. It's just because it's a new thing with you."

"Why does that matter?" Harry asked, taking a bite.

"Lycanthropy affects everyone a little differently," Sirius answered. "For some people, especially those with a bad temper, it can make not the most pleasant of a combination."

"They think I'm going to go wrong because of it?" Harry asked.

Sirius shrugged. "Just keeping an eye out, not because they think that."

Harry looked down at his lap, his mind flitting to the strange impulses he'd had over the summer. The odd dreams. His temper has worsened. That was _before_ becoming a werewolf.

What would happen now?

"What if I do?" Harry croaked, poking at his food now, stomach clenching uncertainly. "What if I do go...bad?"

"Harry," Sirius said, extending a hand to the boy's good shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. "You are a good person. We all have both light, and dark, inside of us. The world isn't split up into good people...and Death Eaters. It's what we choose to act on that makes us who we are."

Harry sat still for a long moment before nodding slowly, and lifting his gaze from the plate. "Thanks, Sirius," he murmured.

Sirius stood, offering a small wink. "Your friends will come around, Harry. They just aren't sure what they're supposed to do for you right now. Give them time."

Harry nodded, taking another bite of his steak and chewing thoughtfully. He swallowed. "Thank you, Sirius. I mean it. Oh, and Sirius?"

"Hm?" Sirius asked, holding the door open with one hand.

"If... If the hearing doesn't go well, and I can't go back to Hogwarts...could I-?"

"Of course Harry," Sirius said with a look of surprise. "You can't honestly believe I'd send you back to live with those muggles, could you?"

Harry smiled, picking up the glass from the table. "'Course not. Just checking."

Sirius laughed, waving and walking out the door.

Harry finished his meal and stretched, pushing himself to his legs more steadily than before. His pulse throbbed in his ears for a moment before fading, and he sighed, stretching his legs and walking the length of the room to peer out the window.

Footsteps alerted him to someone approached outside the door, and he turned his head, drawing in a sharp breath through his nose.

Remus.

The door flew open to reveal the other werewolf, whose eyes were darting back and forth mischievously.

Harry arched both eyebrows in surprise.

"Is Sirius here?" Remus whispered, shutting the door behind him carefully.

"No. Remus, what's wrong?" Harry asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

Remus beamed, reaching into his cloak and pulling out a bar of chocolate. He quickly snapped it in half, handing half to the younger wizard.

"He thinks I have a problem," the ex-Professor said with a slight roll of his eyes. "I can't tell if it's a long-running joke or a legitimate concern, but he thinks that werewolves are prone to 'chocaholism', or whatever it is he calls it."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, unwrapping the golden Honeydukes foil and taking a small bite.

It seemed to practically melt in his mouth and over his taste buds and he sighed, sinking to the ground and immediately tearing off another bite. Then tension in his upper body that he hadn't even known had been there seemed to melt away.

"It really helps, doesn't it?" Remus asked insistently, leaning against the wall with a crooked grin and taking a small bite of his own.

"You know, it really does," Harry said with a sigh, dropping his head back against the wall behind him. "You always said that in third year, and it helped _some_, but I mean, it _really_ helps."

"I know," Remus agreed vehemently.

Harry took a deep breath in. The sense of smell made the taste of things so much stronger. Who knew chocolate had such a lovely, _lovely_ scent when you could smell it?

"He never lets me buy any," Remus grumbled, balling up the empty foil.

"Why?" Harry demanded, resisting the urge to lick his fingertips.

The door opened. "Harry, have you seen – Remus," Sirius's accusing voice startled both of the dazed werewolves to their feet.

"Hello Sirius," Remus said warmly.

"Hello," Harry reiterated, adding in a small wave for emphasis.

The black-haired wizard's gaze shifted to the foil crumpled on the ground next to the two and back to Remus accusingly.

"I told you not to give him any," Sirius snapped.

"No, Sirius, it really helps," Harry protested with a smile.

* * *

The next week for Harry was a blur of chocolate bars, hot chocolate, chocolate milk and chocolate syrup over everything that it could go over. Madam Pompfrey encouraged this, talking about how it might be interesting to do a study on werewolves' common chocolate addiction.

All right, so maybe it was an addiction. But she did say if it helped his stress levels go down, then he really should go for it.

So, he did.

Hermione thought this was brilliant, and had taken up the hobby of cooking chocolate desserts with Harry. Sirius had a fit every time he saw them in the kitchen, especially because Remus never failed to sneak his way in, but was ignored.

He didn't take well to being ignored, therefore sabotaged their cooking in any way he could. This was when Harry started arranging the cooking in the middle of the night.

Hermione seemed reluctant, but she nonetheless went along with it.

"Harry, no, it says to add just one half a cup of cacao powder," Hermione protested.

"Two isn't that much more," Harry protested, dumping it inside. Hermione grimaced.

"I'll just add more sugar," Harry said reassuringly. "And maybe chocolate ice cream on the side."

"Maybe Sirius is right Harry," she said hesitantly as he dumped extra sugar into the mix, a manic smile lighting up his face.

The clock read three fifty-four, and the sky outside was dark.

Harry turned a dark glare to the girl, stirring the ingredients with an inordinate amount of force. "Right about what?"

Hermione sighed, falling into the stool by the island. "Just that maybe you have a bit of a prob-"

"-Are you making cupcakes?" Remus asked sleepily as he stepped into the room in his pajamas, rubbing at his eye with his knuckle.

Harry beamed. "Yes! Tell Hermione extra cacao won't hurt."

Remus shuddered. "More is not always better," he said, peering over the concoction Harry had started. "But maybe if you covered it in some chocolate frosting or with a side of ice cream-"

Hermione grimaced.

"-That's what I said," Harry agreed cheerfully with a nod, tapping his whisk on the side of the bowl before raising it to his lips and taking a lick, setting it aside. "I'm making brownies tomorrow," he added as he filled the cupcake cups with the batter.

"Why don't you have Ron help you tomorrow?" Hermione suggested sleepily.

"I can do it," Remus said.

Harry gave a toothy grin. "Perfect!"

Remus smiled back, yawning and sitting in one of the stools next to the Gryffindor girl.

"You can go to bed Hermione," he said with a knowing smile.

She gave him a look of gratitude and got to her feet.

"But you won't get any of the cupcakes when they're fresh," Harry said in shock, turning to face her with an open-mouthed look.

"That's all right," she said quickly, forcing a smile. "You did most of the work Harry, trust me, you deserve them."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Well if you're sure. Good night, Hermione!" he said with a cheerful wave as she turned, nodding sleepily as she hopped up the steps.

Remus smiled wryly at him as Harry turned back to the stove, staring into it as he waited for the cupcakes to rise.

"Can't sleep?" the older werewolf guessed.

Harry stiffened. "Just sick of Sirius ruining my baking," he half-lied sheepishly, curling up his toes in his socks with a sigh.

"Is that so?" Remus mused quietly.

Harry pressed his lips into a thin line and ran his fingers down the hardwood floor underneath him.

"You know, I had nightmares for a year after it happened. Every night," Remus said softly.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head. "I've had nightmares before. It's not different," he said stiffly.

"It is if it's keeping you up," Remus murmured. "You didn't set an alarm to get up to make these, I'd guess. Something's waking you."

"There's nothing to do about it. I'll get over it. This makes me feel better. That's all there is to it," Harry snapped, eyes pinching closed.

"If you want to talk, you know I can listen."

"Well I don't want to talk, so drop it Lupin," he snapped, standing up from where he had sat on the ground and spinning around, green eyes flashing in the dark.

Remus smiled at him. "All right, Harry," he said tiredly, sighing and leaning on the island.

Harry shifted away, frowning. He swallowed, letting out a deep sigh and scrubbing his face with both hands.

"I think Hermione's getting sick of chocolate," he said finally, after a long pause.

Remus laughed. "I'm not," he said in a cheerful tone. Harry quirked a smile, turning to face him again.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you," he said quickly.

"It's all right," he replied dismissively, eyes scanning the face of the younger wizard.

He was pale, and despite Molly's vicious feeding and the overdosage of chocolate, his face looked rather thin. Dark shadows painted the underside of his moderately bloodshot green eyes.

Remus looked away, fighting a grimace as he thought of himself when he was younger. It was difficult to imagine Harry starting to grey in just a few years.

"I'm scared Remus," Harry's voice startled him from his thoughts.

He turned his hazel gaze to the boy, nodding once to show he was listening. Harry wasn't looking at him however, instead his gaze was trained intently on the wall behind.

"I'm not really so scared, of the transformation," Harry murmured. "I've never really been afraid of getting hurt, that much." He paused, running a hand through his hair and sighing.

Remus nodded again. "Are you afraid of hurting people?"

Harry flinched, looking back to his former Professor's face. "Yes," he said hesitantly. "But, not really. I suppose, I'm sort of scared, that-" he broke off, hesitating and making a gesture to himself. "-I'm scared that I'm...going to - change. Not, not like change, physically, but...mentally. Me, I'm going to change."

"Everyone changes, Harry," Remus said gently.

Harry shook his head. "I was reading, I ordered some books on it. I asked Hermione which ones might be best, you know, ones that didn't paint it in such a bad light... There's people who went mad, Lupin. Where the wolf takes over even when they're not turned, and I just-"

"-Harry," Remus cut him off. "You are a strong person. Being, or, having, what we have, it doesn't change that. It doesn't change anything about us, unless we let it."

Harry shivered and leaned heavily on to the island, planting his face into his palms and massaging his temples.

"I've just been so off lately," he mumbled. "Snapping at everyone, _growling_ at them. And before I even got bit, I was feeling a bit off. And now, I just – I don't want to go bad, Remus. The hearing is coming up just three days before my first transformation. I know I'll be taking the Wolfsbane but it's just – it's just so much. And I don't even sleep. I was having nightmares before – long dark hallways, locked doors that I can't open... The night Cedric died, and now, now the night that Piers, and I wake up when I do sleep, covered in a cold sweat and I can hardly breathe," he rambled. A breathy, humorless chuckle followed his words. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Sounds like you have quite a bit on your mind," Remus said calmly, his eyes drifting closed in thought.

Harry nodded miserably, sinking into a seat across from the other wizard with a deep exhale.

"Have you thought about trying a dreamless sleep potion?" Remus asked curiously.

Harry shook his head. "I don't want to have to take them."

"You won't have to. They aren't an addictive potion. But until these memories aren't quite so fresh in your mind, perhaps it would be easiest on you mentally to at least get away from them at night."

Harry swallowed, nodding. "I suppose, yeah. I don't like running from things."

"It's not running from your problems. It's giving your mind time to sort things out. If you're constantly fighting five things at once, every day and every night, you have no time for coping. And that is what you need most right now, Harry."

"I should have saved Piers," Harry blurted. "Cedric, and now him. I can't save anyone. How am I going to save the world from Voldemort when I repeatedly fail to save even one person?"

"Harry," Remus said in a sharp, commanding tone that caused the younger werewolf to jump, green eyes wide. "It is not your job to save the world. It is not your job to save anyone. Your only job is taking care of yourself. And you don't have to do that alone. You have me, Sirius, Ron, Hermione.. Your friends, your family. We are all here for you Harry. It is not your job to take care of other people or to save their lives."

Harry stared at him for a long moment, eyes still wide as he slowly shifted his gaze away.

"It doesn't always feel like that," he whispered.

"You have a lot of responsibilities for someone your age," Remus admitted, sighing. "Many I wish you would never have had to deal with - even as an adult. But I expect you to put your own health and happiness before those."

"People expect it of me," the black-haired wizard protested, flattening his hand against the marble island and staring down into the stone. "Everyone talks about it. They think I'm the Chosen One."

"I don't care what they say," Remus snapped. "You're only fifteen Harry."

"Voldemort's back," Harry protested, hands balling into fists.

"It's not up to you to stop him alone."

"But what if it is?" Harry was raising his voice now, green eyes flashing in the dark. "What if they're right, and I've got no choice?"

He softened his volume as he remembered most occupants of the house were asleep. "And if they are, and I can't do it, what good am I? I'm-"

"-You're Harry Potter, the loudest, most angst-ridden teenage wizard ever to set foot in the noble house of Black," Sirius's voice cut through the dark, causing both werewolves to jump as he stepped into the kitchen from the archway.

Remus smiled softly as Sirius slid into the seat next to him and draped an arm around his shoulders, hugging the werewolf against him momentarily.

Harry crossed his arms on the table, proceeding to bury his face in them.

"You're my godson Harry," Sirius continued in a softer tone. "And you're very dear to a lot of people. I don't care if you're the 'Chosen One'. Remus couldn't give a damn if he tried.

"Your father and mother gave their lives so you could live Harry," Sirius said sternly. "Stop treating your life as if it were an expendable part of an elaborate game. We care about you, for who you are. I believe you're using Voldemort as an escape from your real worries."

"My real worries?" Harry spluttered in protest, raising his head and narrowing his eyes.

Remus nodded slowly. "It's normal to have regular concerns during a war, Harry. Avoiding them helps no one."

"Neither of you were there to see him return," Harry snarled. "You have no idea what that's like."

Sirius narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth and Remus grabbed his wrist sharply, eyes narrowing as he shook his head.

"Would you like to tell us about it, Harry?" Remus asked gently.

Harry looked away, shaking his head slowly.

"It's just so much," he said finally, gritting his teeth. "I've never really complained, but this, all of it, it's just so...much."

"What can we do to help?" Sirius asked, pulling his arms away from Remus and lacing them together in front of him on the table, leaning forward.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know, I don't need - I don't need help, I just," Harry stumbled over his words and ran a hand through his hair, flexing his jaw and sighing. "I just, I need, I-I don't know."

Harry glanced between the two of them, their looks of interested concern setting him on edge. He wasn't sure if it was just because he'd never experienced it, but having someone staring him down like that...in a concerned, determined, downright _parental_ way...

It wasn't something he'd ever imagined he would be around. Nor had he thought it would be quite so stressful to have someone care about you.

Sirius reached into his robe pockets, plucking out a small, clear vial of a violet liquid and tossing it. It spiraled through the air, and Harry's Seeker instincts kicked in as his hand shot up, closing around the vial.

He brought it down to eye-level, frowning at it in bemusement.

"Dreamless sleep potion. Take some, get to bed," Sirius said.

Harry glanced over his shoulder at the oven almost nervously, and Sirius's eyes widened very suddenly.

"What are you cooking?" he demanded.

"Nothing!" Remus chirped, smiling. "Go back to bed, thank you Sirius," he said warmly. "I've got it from here. Harry might have some some...werewolf questions for me."

Sirius sent him an arched look. "I'm not allowed to be around for 'werewolf questions'?"

"No, no, definitely not. Very private. Indeed, very private stuff. Secrets of the trade and what have you."

Sirius's lips threatened to quirk up into a smile as he glared accusingly down at the sleepy, sandy-haired werewolf.

"I'm going to find every piece of chocolate in this house and set it on fire in the backyard tomorrow morning," he said threateningly as he turned toward the stairs.

"You wouldn't!" Harry gasped in horror, frowning in genuine sadness.

"He would," Remus said miserably.

Sirius smirked and headed rather cheerfully up the flight of steps.

The werewolves listened until they heard the door latch before they both launched to their feet.

"He didn't mean that, did he?"

"Oh, he did," Remus said gravely. "Show me your stashes. I know where to hide them. Some places he'll never look."

* * *

Harry woke slowly, green eyes cracking open.

He swallowed, stretching his arms slowly up above his head and listening to his back give a pleasant crack.

"Your shoulder's working again," Remus's voice made him start. He blinked, looking around. "That's good."

Oh, right. He'd been in the living room, talking to Remus and eating his cupcakes and some chocolate that wouldn't fit into the hiding place, and then...

"I fell asleep," Harry said sadly. "I'm sorry."

Remus laughed from where he stood, clearly having just woken himself if his tousled hair was anything to go by. "Don't apologize," he said dismissively.

"Yeah, the shoulder," Harry said distractedly, reaching up a hand to touch the bandages. "Madam Pompfrey's great."

Remus smiled fondly, picking up a crumpled cupcake wrapper as he walked toward the kitchen. "Yeah, she is," he said warmly.

"What's for breakfast?" Harry asked eagerly, hopping up to his feet and scraping some dried chocolate off the corner of his lips.

"I don't know, what do you want?" Remus asked curiously, yawning as he walked in the archway to the kitchen.

"Food?" Harry offered casually. He drew in a deep breath. The house was devoid of its normal buzz of life, and Harry frowned very suddenly.

"Where is everyone?" he asked.

Remus paused, tilting his head as he strained his more practiced ears. "Ron, Molly and Hermione are upstairs asleep. The Order members are on missions," he said, nodding.

Harry nodded, tilting his head and sucking in a deep breath as he tried to see how Remus had deduced that.

A strange scent assaulted him and he paused, reeling back for a moment, eyes wide.

It was heavy with magic and a hint of ash. He hadn't known magic had a smell - he had assumed if it did, it would have hit him by now - but there was no other name for this scent.

"Dumbledore," Remus said in surprise. He straightened up and headed back into the sitting room, face lit with curiosity.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry cried in surprise when he peered in the room.

The man sat at the end of the table in a long, purple robes and was studying some strange candy in wrapper slowly. He looked up when they entered with a smile.

"Hello, Harry," he greeted cheerfully.

Harry smiled at first before it morphed into a look of anger. "You-"

Remus extended a hand to the boy's shoulder and gave it a squeeze, shaking his head.

"I suspect you are very angry with me, Harry," Dumbledore said to both of their surprise. The old wizard nodded to himself. "Yes, and as you should be."

"I - what?" Harry asked finally, frowning.

Remus cleared his throat and walked the length of the room toward the staircase. "I'll be back in just a moment," he said to Harry who watched him, puzzled.

Harry turned his glare back to the old Headmaster, frowning at him in bemusement.

"Have a seat, Harry," Dumbledore suggested gently. Harry nodded slowly and slid into a seat across from the man.

"You are not wearing your glasses," the wizard pointed out casually.

Harry reached up to touch the bridge of his nose, expression softening for a moment in surprise.

"I don't need them," he responded finally.

"Ah, but of course," the wizard said.

"Ever since I got attacked it's been better actually," Harry said bluntly. The old wizard looked as if he might wince before nodding slowly.

"That is common. Lemondrop?" He extended in his fingertips a brightly wrapped yellow candy. Its scent was citrusy and sweet as it twirled through the air and Harry shook his head.

"No, thank you."

"As you may know Harry, you have a hearing for underage magic this week," Dumbledore continued.

Harry felt his face go white. "How many?"

Dumbledore frowned, tilting his head slightly to the side in clear bemusement.

"How many days?" Harry whispered, trying to beat the curling fear inside of him into submission.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, a slight frown touching his features. "Four days, until your hearing."

"Seven days," Harry mumbled miserably, staring down at the countertop. _Until my transformation._

"Forgive me, Harry, I did not intend to bring such a thing up. Nor did I hope it would be so close to such a sensitive time."

Harry clenched his hands into fist and gritted his teeth, infuriated at the anxious fear. He'd fought Voldemort three times. This was nothing. He'd been cruicoed. He knew what pain was. This was _nothing_.

"Why were you having people watch me?" Harry demanded, not looking up from the table.

"I was afraid for you. I was hoping they could keep an eye on you, make sure nothing happened."

"That did a us a fat load of good, didn't it? Did you ever think maybe just moving me away from a place I was apparently so vulnerable might be a good idea?" he spat.

Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head. "I admit that what has happened is entirely my fault," he spoke, his voice heavy with exhaustion and guilt. "I was being foolish, and attempting to protect you. I failed. It is not one of my strong points - it has never been. I rarely know what is best for people, especially you, it would seem. Forgive me, Harry."

Harry looked up, the fear finally draining from his features and being replaced with surprise as he looked into the - now, as Harry could see, very clearly well over a hundred year old - wizard's eyes.

"It isn't your fault," Harry protested. "That wasn't what I was trying to say. I just meant, maybe, if you hadn't kept me so in the dark, if I had known, I could have-"

"-I do not believe Harry that, had you known that young Piers was out there to fend for himself, you would have acted in any other way. It is in your nature to help people. It is something that comes very instinctively to you. In that, we are very different."

Harry frowned, guilt balling up inside him. In truth, even if he had known it was Fenrir out there, waiting for Harry just so he could turn him.. He couldn't see himself having not gone, all the same. Perhaps he would have been more cautious, but the odds of him avoiding the situation were still null.

"It isn't your fault. Like you said, it's...who I am," Harry said angrily. "It - it isn't anyone's fault, what happened," he finished lamely.

Dumbledore smiled gently. "It is very kind of you Harry, to attempt to soothe the guilt of an old man. I am afraid you were right in your first feelings however - in that this is indeed, my fault. Now, let us not focus on the past."

Harry glared at him, wanting to point out that if he was blaming himself, he was focusing on the past, but held his tongue.

"At the hearing, I suspect Fudge and his allies will be very hostile. They do not like to hear the truth Harry, and will attempt to attack it at the source. You cannot give them any weapons to use against us."

Harry nodded. "Madam Pompfrey has already told me, that everyone could be arrested, if they found out you'd been keeping _me_, a secret."

Dumbledore nodded. "Hiding lycanthropy is indeed a very grave crime in the eyes of the Ministry. It will not come up in your trial."

Harry nodded.

"Now," Dumbledore said. "All I ask of you, is that you speak only when spoken to. Do not argue. They are particularly good at twisting your words. The confirmed story will be that you were attacked by Dementors."

"Dementors?" Harry asked.

He nodded. "We will not mention feral dogs, or wolves. Though this may seem easiest at first, the attack was made on the full moon. It does not take a very great mind to take this knowledge to the next step and suggest that perhaps, it was a werewolf."

"Why would I attack a Dementor with those spells?" Harry asked with a frown.

Dumbledore smiled. "You have only the knowledge of a fourth year student, Harry. The Patronus is a very advanced spell. It has not been taught to you yet, and as Fudge likes to suggest - you are utterly ordinary, so why would you know the specific spell to ward off Dementors? It is also easy to assume that you would see Voldemort when being attacked, thus inciting your offensive spells. Dementors force us to relive our worst memories."

Harry nodded slowly, scuffing his foot against the floor. "All right, okay. The story is that, painfully ordinary Harry Potter, was attacked by a Dementor, and reacted defensively."

Dumbledore nodded. "This is also useful because we will not be asked to bring in any witnesses. Muggles cannot see Dementors, and you were in a heavily populated muggle suburb."

"Right," Harry said with a nod. "Right, okay, got it. Ordinary, Dementors, saw Voldemort."

Just as Dumbledore opened his mouth to respond, an unfamiliar, horned owl flew in the window, dropping an official-looking letter before Harry.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Your hearing has moved time and date._

_Please make yourself available at 11:00AM, this morning._

_Many apologies for any inconvenience this may cause._

_Warm regards, Mathilda Hopkins._


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

* * *

**A/N:** _An Arguer is a lawyer._

* * *

Harry gaped at the letter and Dumbledore made a small sound of irritation.

"I suspected they might do this. Go on Harry, get ready. I will see you at the Ministry," the Headmaster said quickly, getting to his feet and disapparating in a twirl.

Harry stared pale-faced at the letter before slowly getting to his feet, looking around the kitchen.

"Remus?" he said in a quiet voice.

The werewolf was at the bottom of the steps, Sirius at his side, in a moment. "Don't worry Harry, it will go fine," he said warmly, taking a step forward and placing both hands on the boy's shoulders, smiling at him encouragingly. "Dumbledore is the best Arguer a wizard could ask for in court. And he is a much smarter man than Corenlius Fudge."

"Quite. Now, go clean yourself up. No offense Harry, but you look like a sleep-deprived werewolf," Sirius said with a playful smirk.

Harry returned the smile hesitantly, and looked between the two, warmth swelling up inside him.

If it didn't go well, he had somewhere to go, he reminded himself as he headed up the stairs toward his room.

* * *

Harry had no one to escort him to the Ministry.

Mr. Weasley wasn't available, and Remus assured him several times that he really didn't want Remus to escort him. Sirius had offered, which had received glares from both werewolves.

"Couldn't I go as his dog?" Sirius asked, frowning.

"No, Sirius. Pets aren't allowed in the ministry," Remus reminded him, sighing as he reached for some floo powder.

"Owls are," Sirius protested. "Bloody specieism. It's outrageous."

Harry patted his arm soothingly. "Who are you fire-calling, Remus?"

"Shacklebolt," Remus said as he started the fire-call and stuck his head into the green flames.

Harry grimaced. He hadn't liked the auror upon first meeting him, and he doubted he would like him more the second time.

"Kingsley's a good guy, Harry," Sirius said reassuringly. "Just isn't the most chatty. Or fun. But you know."

"I don't think he likes me," Harry said.

Sirius shrugged. "Sure he does. Kingsley likes everyone."

"He's said yes," Remus said in relief as he pulled his head out of the fire. "Fantastic. He'll be here in a moment. Are you ready to go, Harry?"

Harry nodded before Sirius stood, touching his bandaged shoulder gently. "That has to go, or there will be questions," he said.

Harry flinched. He hadn't looked at his shoulder without the bandages since he had been attacked. A part of him didn't want to see the scar.

Remus stepped forward, a sympathetic look spread across his features. "He's right, Harry."

"Scars are manly," Sirius said encouragingly. "With that and the one on your forehead, why, you'll be the coolest kid in school."

Remus rolled his eyes at him before offering Harry a small smile. The green-eyed wizard nodded, standing and walking stiffly over to the bathroom.

He rolled up his short sleeve once he was inside, peeling it back to reveal the scar that upon inspection was disturbingly close to where his shoulder connected to his neck.

He stared at the large bandage in the mirror. A frown morphed his features and he pinched his eyes closed for a moment, turning away.

The memories replayed and he winced as his shoulder gave a phantom pain.

He blew out a shaky breath, forcing his hands to unclench as he opened his eyes, glancing back to the mirror.

He undid the top bandage, and let it fall unwrapped.

He grimaced.

The scar was large, with a thin layer of scar tissue covering the distinct bite mark. He reached up a hand, touching the skin gently.

It was oddly smooth to the touch, but not sensitive. He frowned, running his fingers over it a few times before sighing and folding his sleeve back down.

He pulled up the bottom of his shirt, and quickly undid the bandages on his side too.

He glanced at the scratches. The scars looked to be a few months old, not a few weeks. He smiled and offered his silent thanks to Madam Pompfrey, letting his shirt drop down with a sigh.

He heard Kingsley arrive, but stopped to look in the mirror. He leaned in, touching his raven black hairs.

Would they start to grey in a few weeks?

Or would it be a few months?

When had Remus's started to?

He sighed, pulling back and pushing open the bathroom door and heading back into the dining room.

"Hello, Harry," Kingsley's deep voice greeted him. Harry nodded, offering a half-smile in greeting.

"Let's go then. Dumbledore should be waiting," he said, holding out his hand. Harry grimaced. He hated side-along apparition.

* * *

_Noise._

It took all of Harry's self-control not to immediately crumple to a heap on the ground and cover his ears.

Screeching, yelling, owls' wings, people talking, whispering, gossiping. A million heartbeats, oh it must be, a thousand footfalls. Heels clicking, papers rustling.

Kingsley gripped his elbow to steady him as he swayed in place, an involuntary, wolfish whimper escaping his lips as his wide green eyes spun around to every corner of the room.

The smells hurt. They literally seemed to travel up and register in his mind as a swirling mess of burning.

Too _much._

Perfume, cologne, sweat, food, ashes, magic.

He leaned closer to Kingsley, taking in a quick, steadying breath as he locked the smell of steel and clean leather into the forefront of his mind.

_Kingsley. Focus on Kingsley._

"Are you ready?" the auror asked calmly. Harry hesitated for a moment, taking a few more hesitant breaths before he nodded.

Shacklebolt began to walk and Harry had to nearly jog to keep pace with his long strides. He flicked his green eyes back and forth rapidly, nostrils flaring as his sharp vision focused from person to person.

"Try to focus on the elevator," Kingsley said in barely more than a breath, never breaking pace. Harry felt a small smile flit across his face at his newfound hearing abilities. "Remus does it by focusing on one thing at a time."

Harry nodded discreetly and turned his eyes to the elevator.

One opened with a small _ding!_

Then it closed, a few noisy witches in dress robes piling in.

They reached the elevator in no time, and Harry found the lights at the top – which were actually fairies that would spring glowing dust into the bulb on cue – extremely fascinating.

"Why haven't wizards discovered electricity yet?"

Kingsley frowned. "Electricity?"

"Light, without fire, or magic. Power," Harry said.

Shacklebolt eyed him in bemusement. "Why would we need that when we have magic?"

Harry shrugged and waited for the current occupants of the elevator to pile out before stepping forward and inside, leaning on the back wall of the elevator.

A horrid stench flooded his nostrils suddenly as he stepped inside, and his lip curled.

"_Hem-hem_," an insistent, unfamiliar voice hissed from the crowd outside of the elevator.

A toad-like woman, covered in pink from head to toe and wearing the strongest perfume Harry had ever encountered stepped in, and a growl rose from Harry's lips. He had no idea who this woman was, but he immediately knew – he did _not_ like her.

Or, the wolf didn't.

Luckily, this went unheard as several other wizards piled on, fumbling with papers and mumbling to themselves.

Harry glared at her viciously and Shacklebolt unwittingly placed a firm hand on to Harry's scarred shoulder.

He jerked away from the touch, bumping into someone and apologizing.

The person's eyes went wide. "Harry Potter?" she gasped loudly.

He winced as every gaze – including the woman's with the horrible smell – darted over to his corner.

"Oh Mr. Potter, such a pleasure," the woman he had bumped into said cheerfully, grabbing his hand and shaking it forcefully.

"Hi," Harry said lamely. A person behind her snapped a picture, lips parted in surprise and delight.

The toad-like woman rolled her eyes, a gesture not missed by Harry. He furrowed his eyebrows at her in confusion, unsure of what he'd done to offend her. Had she heard his growl, after all?

"This is our floor." Kingsley's voice cut through his train of thought.

"Escorting a convict, Shacklebolt? I hadn't known you had sunk so low," the toad-woman said in a deceptively sweet voice. Harry narrowed his eyes but managed to hold back the animalistic noises of distaste.

Kingsley turned, arching an eyebrow. "I don't consider children convicts," he said in a condescending way, his booming voice seeming to fill the air of the elevator lift. Every witch and wizard went quiet, a few of their eyes widening as they glanced quickly between Kingsley and the toad-woman.

Harry followed him out of the elevator, head ducked. "Who was she?" the black-haired wizard asked in a whisper, nearly tripping as he darted around an oggling photographer.

"Dolores Umbridge," Kingsley said too softly for someone even a foot away to hear. "She'll be in your hearing."

Harry groaned, her horrid stench still burned in his memory. She had looked a bit like a toad, wearing too much pink.

"Envy turns toads green," Harry mumbled suddenly, remembering the witch who turned people into toads in the wizarding kids' stories he'd been reading the other night.

Remus had suggested the stories. He said they'd always helped him when he'd woken up out of sorts.

He was right. They were humorous and new to Harry. It reminded him of his first year at Hogwarts, when everything was still so new to him. And it reminded him there was still so much he didn't know about the wizarding world.

Kingsley smiled, walking down a flight of stairs. Harry kept pace, returning the smile gently.

"Here we are," the auror said, nodding to a large set of doors. "Dumbledore will be here momentarily. Good luck, Harry," he said bracingly, patting the werewolf on the arm.

Harry nodded. "Thank you," he said, anxiety bubbling up as he looked at the intimidating, dark doors.

Kingsley nodded, turning and heading back up the steps.

Harry took a deep steadying breath and pushed open one of the doors.

* * *

"Cleared - of all charges."

Fudge's voice rang throughout the room about an hour later, followed by the resounding smack of the wooden gavel. Harry let out a deep breath for what felt like the first time in the past hour.

Harry's chest filled with elation and he jumped to his feet, a smile lighting up his features.

Dumbledore swept out of the court room.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry called after him, picking up the pace and darting after the older wizard.

When he pushed open the doors of the court room and stepped into the hall, Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen. Harry frowned, looking left and right and flaring his nostrils as he tried to pick up a scent.

He began to turn as a strikingly familiar one smacked him practically in the face. It was sweet, like honey and ash. Rustic, almost. But where was it-

"Congratulations, Harry," Remus's voice made him jump.

"Remus!" he cried with a smile. "I thought you weren't coming!" He stepped forward, hugging the man without thinking, relief and joy filling him with warmth at the familiar face. Not having a stable person to hold on to the scent of was dizzying in a place this large. He was honestly beginning to wonder if he would be adjusted enough in time for Hogwarts.

"You thought we'd toss you to the wolves with no way to get home?" Remus asked playfully, returning the brief hug.

"I think Snuffles is influencing your sense of humor," Harry said with a smirk as he moved away from the hug, taking a deep, happy breath and centering his senses on the werewolf.

"Maybe so," Remus said with a laugh. He held out his arm. "Ready?"

Harry nodded, grabbing the man's arm.

* * *

"Hey, who's getting an education?" Sirius greeted the two warmly as they apparated into the sitting room. Sirius had a glass of wine in his hand as he smiled up at the two, and he shook it gently as they looked at him.

He was sprawled across one of the loveseats in the sitting room, his legs dangling over one of the leather armrests.

"Yours truly," Harry answered, falling into a seat in the sitting room heavily, the exhaustion from the hearing hitting him like a rock. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and heaved a sigh, scrubbing his face with his hands.

"Such a pity. Drop-outs are statistically the most successful."

"That's a lie," Remus said, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on a coat hook.

Sirius laughed, tossing his head back. "Oh Remus, you tell the funniest jokes."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Where'd you get the wine?"

Sirius shrugged. "Wine cellar. Picked the most expensive looking one. Had some of these in the family for over a thousand years." He picked up the alcohol, tossing the crystal container over to the werewolf who caught it gently, turning it over to read the label.

Remus grumbled something unintelligible, shaking his head and setting it back down on a low coffee table.

"Can I have some?" Harry asked curiously, sitting up and taking a sniff, trying to decide if he'd finally be able to taste the 'light hints of cherry and honey' and whatnot wine critics always went on about.

"No."

"Yes," Sirius said, sitting up.

"No," Remus reiterated, glaring.

"Remus, we both drank firewhiskey when we were his age," Sirius said with an eyeroll.

"_One_ time," Remus snapped.

"And this is one. I haven't forgotten how to count. Here, Harry," he said, snatching up the crystal bottle and pouring half of a short glass.

"How'd you get firewhiskey?" Harry asked curiously, drawing the wine toward his face and taking a sniff.

"We-"

"-That's enough," Remus snapped, hazel eyes flashing with irritation. He took a deep breath and sank into the loveseat nearby with a sigh. "I don't support this," he said as Harry raised the glass to his lips tentatively.

"Relax, Remus, you make us sound old," Sirius groaned.

Harry smiled and took a small sip.

The strong taste was something even his werewolf sense of smell hadn't prepared him for. He nearly choked, quickly setting down the glass and grimacing. "What on earth was that?" he asked in disgust.

Sirius gave a barking laugh. "This stuff is foul," he said cheerfully, taking another drink.

Remus laughed as Harry winced.

"Oh, God, the lingering taste is even worse," he said, standing up sharply, his face contorting oddly.

* * *

The next day, Harry went to Diagon Alley with Remus and 'Snuffles' to get his school things. Diagon Alley proved surprisingly easier to handle than the Ministry. Remus assured him he was just learning how to block things out.

He also got to see Hedwig again. She had still been at the Dursleys, waiting for him and only leaving to hunt occasionally, but Dumbledore had dropped her off. She was hiding from Harry at present, but he assumed that was more so because he'd left her on accident, and she was sulking, and had very little if anything to do with his lycanthropy.

It was then only five days from Harry's first transformation. The waiting hung like a thick blanket of stress in the air.

He could feel it now, in his bones. Every night there was a slight ache, a twinge. He was weaker, he slept for longer hours.

"Sni – Snape is here," Sirius's voice called from the sitting room and floated into the kitchen where the two werewolves had received the go-ahead to make brownies.

Remus's expression morphed into a look of guilt as he got to his feet.

"Why's Snape here?" Harry demanded.

"Be nice. He's making Wolfsbane for you. Which he is not required to do."

Harry blinked. "Oh."

Remus headed toward the sitting room with Harry at his heels, and offered Snape an apologetic smile. "Hello, Severus."

Snape blinked at him coolly and pulled out two vials of Wolfsbane Potion. Remus's eyes widened in surprise as he handed the potions to him.

"You know the dosage. Once a day, until the full moon."

"This is-"

"-The potion is not more difficult to make in larger amounts," Snape said dismissively.

Sirius's eyes widened just slightly in surprise, his lips parting.

"Severus," Remus said, frowning at the vial. "Thank you."

Snape offered him a small, condescending look in silence. "Good-bye," he said stiffly, turning and walking back into the fireplace.

"Thank you, Snape," Sirius said in a clipped tone as the Potions Master gathered up some Floo powder.

Snape sneered, throwing the powder down and disappearing with a quietly muttered address.

"I don't understand." Harry frowned.

"He made some for me," Remus murmured softly, turning one of the vials over in his hand. He handed one of the blue potions over to Harry.

"But why?" Sirius said suspiciously.

"People change, Sirius," Remus said gently.

Sirius's lip curled distrustfully and he glared at the small vial, eyes narrowed into slits.

"Right, Harry, look," Remus said suddenly. "See how the vial is split off into five segments?"

Harry nodded, tilting the blue-filled vial to the right and watching the light reflect prettily off the vial against the sunlight. He resisted the urge to watch the dust particles dance around - that was horribly distracting.

"You drink one segment a day, the five days leading up to the full moon. It only pours out a single segment each time it is opened, so no need to worry about measuring it out. It tastes foul, but don't try to add anything for the flavor. Wolfsbane can be very poisonous when this potion is tampered with."

Harry nodded and pulled off the cap. Remus did so as well. Blue smoke rose from the potion, swirling into the air. Harry cut off air travel through his nose, not wanting to catch a whiff and be tempted to back out.

"Bottoms up," Harry said, his anxiety written across his face as he forced a smile.

He tipped back the vial's contents into his lips and swallowed rapidly.

"Oh God," Harry choked, clenching the vial.

Remus shuddered, eyes pinching closed as he began screwing back on the lid to his own vial, shaking his head at the taste.

The potion worked its way down into Harry's stomach, burning the whole way down. He felt his heart pump faster, a cool film of sweat spreading across his forehead as his legs trembled and his muscles ached.

His vision spun and he pushed his weight back into his heels. Distant voices reached his eardrums, someone was touching his arm, gave him a light shake.

His vision went out, but he felt his eyes still open and his legs beneath him.

_Thump, thump, thump, thump_, his pulse was in his ears.

His mouth was dry, goosebumps were raised all over his body and he felt himself begin to tremble.

People were panicking, around him. He could hear raised voices, shouts.

"Harry? Harry can you hear me?"

His vision faded back in. Harry blinked several times, head still aching as his senses reluctantly started again.

He was still standing, somehow.

"He'll pay," Sirius snarled. "Poisoning him, I want to know what the _hell_ he did. Knew he didn't do it out of the goodness of his heart. _'People change_' my arse."

Remus frowned and shook his head. "Snape had no way of knowing which of us would take which vial."

"Maybe he didn't care," Sirius snapped, pacing the floor. "Let me go knock him around a bit. I'm sure I can get an answer for you."

"What's going on?" Harry asked, his own voice sounding distant.

"We don't know yet Harry," Remus said gently. "Can you tell us what just happened?"

Harry blinked. "I sort of, blacked out? Like I was going to faint. But I didn't."

Remus led him over to a seat and Harry sat down. He felt something cool drip down toward his eye and reached up a hand, using a shaking hand to wipe away the watery sweat.

"I don't think this was Snape's doing," Remus said after they allowed Harry a moment of quiet - aside from Sirius's pacing.

"It just happened coincidentally a moment after he drinks the potion that Snape was so _kind_ to provide an extra bottle of?"

"I'm not saying it was coincidental. I'm just saying I don't think Snape intended for this to happen," Remus argued.

Harry blinked numbly at the room around him, flexing his hand as sensation returned. "I don't think this was Snape, either," he said finally. "It doesn't make any sense."

Sirius snarled unintelligibly. "You both need to stop thinking so well of people," he snapped.

"I'm just saying if Snape wanted to kill me, I don't think this is how he'd go about it," Harry said, pressing a hand to his temple and closing his eyes.

"And if it wasn't meant to kill you right away?" Sirius challenged. "Let's say it tampers with the transformation. It makes the wolf so neurotic that you die in the process. Snape claims it was an accident with the potion, and-"

"-Sirius," Remus said harshly as Harry sucked in a sharp breath.

He felt as though the air had been sucked from his lungs and his eyes widened as he stared at the ground.

_So if it wasn't made to kill me off the bat... It could be made to make me suffer? Or kill me slowly? Or worse?_

He thought of the wolf's horrible bite and imagined inflicting that on himself. He started to shake, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

"Harry, I didn't mean that, I'm sorry," Sirius said softly. "I'm sure you and Remus are right. It was just a bad side-affect to a new potion. No big deal," he said in a very gentle tone.

Harry blinked, nodding and getting to his feet. "I'm going to my room," he said shortly, walking past the two.

"Harry," Remus said, getting to his feet. "Don't worry. A potion of the nature that Sirius is talking about doesn't even exist-"

"-Don't worry about it," Harry said dismissively as he walked up the steps. "I'm just tired."

* * *

Harry buried his face into his pillow where he lay, face-down on his bed.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice asked softly from outside the door.

Harry lifted his head. "Come in," he called, reaching over to his bedside and pulling over one of the chocolate pieces of popcorn-shaped candy.

Hermione had gotten them for him. They were muggle candies. He'd never seen Dudley eat them, but they were very good, in Harry's opinion.

Ron stepped in after her and Harry rolled over on to his back, glancing up at the two reluctantly.

Ron hadn't been the same since Harry's attack. Hermione had been doing her best to convince him he was being stupid, but he liked to insist he didn't feel any different about Harry.

He just didn't want to be around him, or for Hermione to be alone with him, and Harry had found that his heartbeat went wild when Harry raised his voice.

_Yes, clearly didn't feel any different._

Harry sighed, pushing himself into a sitting position and nodding to the seats by his bed.

"You know," Harry said, folding his knees up to his chest. "I just realized - where's Ginny?"

"Why do you need to know?" Ron snapped.

"Ron!" Hermione scolded, eyes narrowed.

Harry felt an unbidden growl rising in his chest that didn't seem to go unheard by the other two occupants of the room. Hermione's eyes widened and Ron stood up, heart racing.

The werewolf groaned, throwing his face back into his pillow. "I'm sorry," he mumbled around the pillowcase.

"Don't be," Hermione said. Harry strained his ears but didn't hear any sign of Ron sitting back down. "Ron was being ridiculous."

"He growled at me!" Ron protested.

"Because you yelled at him," Hermione replied shortly.

Ron reluctantly sat back down and Harry carefully lifted his eyes from his pillow, eyes darting over to them nervously.

"It's all right Harry," Hermione said.

He huffed, pushing himself upright again. "I don't mean anything by it," he said sincerely, green eyes focused on his best friend. "It just has been sort of happening. I don't know why."

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "I know, mate," he said finally, sighing and looking at the ground. "It's just... weird, is all. Now that you're, err-"

"-Furry," Harry provided with a crooked smile.

"Furry?"

"It's what Sirius and I decided to call it," Harry explained. He yawned, stretching back across his bed and shivering. "I don't see how it's different though. You were all right with Remus," Harry said, frowning.

Ron sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's just a weird thing to get used to."

Harry resisted the urge to laugh. It was of course typical for Ron to be the one needing to get used to something that would change Harry's life forever, when Harry had already begun to accept it.

"Ginny is staying at the Burrow," Hermione answered his previous question. Harry flicked his gaze over to her, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Why?"

Ron flushed and Hermione opened her mouth before snapping it closed, hesitating nervously.

"Dad - just thought, that, for the first month, while uh, you were healing, and all that, um-"

Harry blinked as the meaning of Ron's stumbling words hit him. His lip curled and he let out a deep, angry exhale with a hint of a snarl.

"-No, Harry, honest, not like that, they just thought you needed your space, and-"

"-And there wasn't _space_ for me in a house that's four stories tall?" Harry sneered.

Ron flinched, digging his nails into the armrest of his chair. "No, well, they just thought, that maybe-"

"_They?_ Mrs. Weasley too?" Harry snarled, straightening up further, green eyes wide with anger.

"Harry, maybe you should calm down," Hermione said gently.

"Don't tell me to bloody _calm down,_" Harry snarled, snapping his head to face her.

Ron shifted his weight toward Hermione, body tense. "It's not like they were unfounded!" Ron snapped. "Look at you!"

Harry reeled back like he'd been hit. "Excuse me?" he spat.

"You're damn well about to jump us, snarling, spitting and growling all over the place!" Ron snapped, face setting into a look of anger.

"What the _hell_ gives you the idea I'm about to '_jump you_'?" Harry snarled, leaping to his feet, hands balled into fists.

"Ron, Harry, quit it," Hermione snapped, getting to her feet. "No one's going to 'jump' anyone-"

"-Then stop getting so worried, Hermione," Harry snarled, wheeling to face her. He could hear her pounding heart and see the tension in her body.

"I'm not _worried_," she snapped, stepping up to him with a glare.

He glared down at her and for the first time noticed the way he was twitching. He pulled his hands into tighter fists before forcing them to relax and flexing, then balling them up again.

"Sit down, would you?" Ron snapped, getting to his feet and edging in between Harry and Hermione.

Harry felt something curl in his stomach as the enraged redhead pushed in between the two, his shoulder brushing Harry's scarred side as he did.

It was only four days from the full moon. The sun had just begun to set and Harry swore, he could feel the moon's soft glow against his skin from the window. His mind blanked, pushing back into the memories of the attack.

White, blinding rage flooded his senses and he moved forward.

Ron flew back into one of the chairs, toppling it over and his leg getting trapped beneath it. He scrambled to pull his leg free and gaped up at Harry, who was now growling low in his chest, eyes glazed as he glared down at the redhead.

"Harry!" Hermione cried in shock. She reached forward, placing a hand gently on to his unscarred shoulder.

"Don't touch him Hermione!" Ron cried, scrambling to his feet again.

Harry shook violently as he fought the memories away, blinking in quick succession until his surroundings reappeared.

_This is Ron, and Hermione._

Hermione was speaking to him gently, firm pressure on his shoulder. He was being asked to sit down.

He sat. Slowly, mechanically, eyes still glazed and distant.

"I'm sorry," he said in a numb voice, eyes scanning in front of him before focusing weakly on to the redhead.

Ron stared at him in blank confusion.

"I didn't mean to," he finished.

Ron didn't say anything. Harry pulled his legs up to his chest on his bed where he sat, and wrapped his arms around them, eyes drifting closed.

The door swung open, the young werewolf noted. He sniffed.

_Remus_.

Unsure warmth filled his chest and he lifted his head, eyes searching out the older wizard.

Remus's expression was filled with concern. He was saying something rather quickly, but Harry for the life of him couldn't distinguish the words. He might as well have been speaking another language.

Ron and Hermione got up and left the room. Remus walked over very slowly, speaking gently as he did.

Harry watched him, and waited for his ears to start working again so he could respond to whatever it was Remus was trying to say.

"-Harry?"

Harry's head jerked up as he recognized his name. Remus stood hesitantly just a foot away, eyebrows furrowed with worry.

"'Lo, Remus," Harry said, finding his voice again. He tilted his head, frowning at the wizard, who looked very concerned.

Remus's shoulders sagged in relief, a soft smile turning up the corners of his lips.

"How are you feeling?"

Harry hugged his knees tighter to his chest, burying his face in the top. He shook his head.

"Not good?" Remus supplied.

Harry's shoulders collapsed forward.

"Want to tell me what happened?"

Harry thought it over for a second. Then a minute. Then a few minutes.

Remus didn't say anything. He just slowly sat down in one of the seats by Harry's bed, and waited.

Finally, Harry forced himself to uncurl and nodded, offering a half-shrug.

Remus nodded in agreement, expression soft but unreadable.

"Ron, was, angry with me," Harry started slowly, eyebrows furrowing as he began the story. "I asked where Ginny was. That made him upset, I think? I don't think it was my fault. Hermione was upset with him." Harry nodded, agreeing with himself.

Remus nodded.

"We dropped it. But then, it came up again. I don't remember, exactly what happened. But I growled at him. They're worried about Ginny, I think. They think I'd hurt her. That upset me, I don't want to hurt anyone."

Remus let his eyes drift closed in thought and made a non-committal 'hmm' noise. Harry continued. "I stood up and Ron said I looked like I was going to jump them, or something. I'd never hurt Ron and Hermione," he said the last bit very quickly, his back straightening as he did. "But then, he sort of bumped into me and tried to get in between me and Hermione, because, I think he thought I might hurt her, and then-"

Harry paused, looking down at the ground and frowning, his head tilting to the side. "-And then I don't really know. I sort of drifted off, somewhere in my head, and when I got back, Ron had been knocked over, and everyone was very upset with me."

Harry took a few unsure breaths, opened and closed his mouth a few times before nodding and scooting back toward the center of his bed, nodding.

"No one's upset with you Harry," Remus said softly, offering the younger werewolf a reassuring smile.

Harry observed him quietly. Remus's face was pale, and the usual lines on his face were even darker. He had dark shadows under his eyes, and his lips looked dry and thin.

"You look ill," Harry said without thinking.

Remus laughed. "Look in a mirror," he said with a smile.

"I don't feel like myself," Harry said, shivering and rubbing a hand up the side of his arm.

"That makes two of us," Remus murmured. "It's normal."

"I don't see you knocking people into furniture and growling at them," Harry said, flopping on to his back on his bed and staring up at the ceiling.

Remus laughed. "When I was your age, I did," he said. "You learn to avoid conflict. And the people close to you learn what sets you off. Which is, everything but chocolate."

"Do you have some-?"

Remus laughed.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

* * *

**A/N:** _Onwards... 100 followers already! I can't believe it! Thank you guys =) Hope this chapter counts as my thanks._

* * *

Harry woke slowly from the first dreamless sleep he had had in a long time.

It was still the middle in the night. He lifted his upper body off the mattress with his arms, peering around in the dark, unlit room. He flared his nostrils and strained his ears, trying to find what had woken him.

Nothing.

He could hear Ron and Hermione's heartbeats a few rooms away, and if he really tried, he could even hear Kreacher stumbling through the sitting room, cleaning up the mess left from Sirius's wine-cellar raid and grumbling to himself.

He sighed, letting his arms collapse beneath him and snuggling his face into his pillow.

The open window behind him shined suddenly, as a cloud from outside moved away from the moon.

Harry flinched, feeling the light rays across his back. Light had never been a sensation he could feel.

Until now.

Slowly he pulled himself up again and inched over to the end of his bed, eyes turned to the window where the near-full moon hung ominously.

_One day left._

A chill rocked down his spine and he swore he felt something stir in his mind. Something dark and entirely unfamiliar.

He closed his green eyes, shaking his head lightly in an attempt to whisk away the feeling.

He leaned over to his bedside table, picking up his wand and giving it a wave, murmuring, "_Tempus."_

Four fifty-five.

He pushed himself to his feet, stretching his aching limbs up toward the ceiling.

He hadn't been meaning to fall asleep. Sleeping made time move much faster than being awake did, and he wanted every last hour of this that he could have.

This was normal. This was life. This was everything he understood already. Sure, the senses were new – the anger, the soreness.

But nothing had changed. Not really. He was still Harry, for now.

He rubbed at his bloodshot eyes, knuckles pressing against the heavy purple shadows as he yawned. He pushed open the door of his room, creeping down the steps as gently as he could.

He walked into the kitchen toward the hiding place of the chocolate. He pulled open the hidden drawer, yanking out the last bar of Honeydukes. He tore the foil-covered chocolate bar in half, and wrapped the end of the foil over the other half, placing it back inside gently. _In case Remus wants some_, he thought, resisting the urge to take the whole thing anyway.

He began to make his way back up the steps when suddenly he found himself face to face with a dark figure.

Harry's jaw dropped and he reeled back, a growl ripping from his lips before he could respond in any normal way as he glared at the unknown person in the dark.

Ron held up his hands in front of him, eyes wide. "It's just me."

Harry dropped his wand-arm, not realizing he had targeted Ron until just then. His cheeks reddened in the dark and he looked away, stuffing his wand back into his robe pockets.

"Hi," he said stiffly to the red-head, making to step around him.

Ron blocked his path. "Listen, Harry, mate…" he started slowly, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. "I just wanted to – to say," he hesitated, glancing away. "To say-"

"-It's fine," Harry said shortly, moving to step around him again. "Forget about it. I'm sorry for pushing you," he said monotonously.

"No, Harry, wait," Ron insisted. "Hermione said I had to do this, and she was right," he said sharply.

Harry looked back slowly, gave a stiff nod and sat down on the steps, giving the other wizard an expectant look.

Ron fidgeted. "I'm not going to say that... that things are going to be exactly the same," he admitted slowly. "But you're - we're still - we're still friends."

Harry stared at him for a long moment, taking in a deep breath. "Okay," he said finally. He looked down to his palms. "I forgive you, Ron."

"I was being a git, Hermione was right, and-"

"-It's good. We're fine, Ron. Thanks." Harry got to his feet and offered the redhead a tense smile. He turned, stepping back up the stairs and toward his bedroom.

* * *

"Come in," Harry snapped to the heartbeat outside the door the next morning. Sirius or Remus, if the rhythm was anything to go by.

Harry hadn't slept all night, and his eyes were burning furiously in protest. It didn't help that he was more tired than ever as the full moon drew near – not that staying up for days in a row had ever been easy.

Remus stepped inside, looking worse than the day prior as well. "Have you taken your p-"

"-No. I hate it. It makes me feel dreadful," Harry snarled, glaring up at the man, eyes bloodshot and face pale. "Did you need something?"

"Take the potion," Remus said stiffly, striding across the room and pulling the nearly-empty blue vial off of the bedside table and thrusting it into the younger wizard's hands.

"_No,_" Harry snarled, dropping it on to the mattress and scooting away from it petulantly.

"_Take the damn potion_," Remus snarled back, tired eyes flashing as his face pinched with rage.

"_No._"

A growl shook Remus's form. "Do you know what I would have given to have had this potion when I first changed, Harry? Do you have _any semblance_ of an idea?"

"You're not me-"

"-I suffered for _years._ I still do, when Snape doesn't make it for me." The older werewolf stepped forward, hand seeming to drift subconsciously across the scar marring the left side of his face. "_Every month. _I'd wake up covered in new souvenirs that never go away. They mark you for _life_. As if the monthly reminder wasn't enough, you see it every time you look in a mirror-"

"-I'm sorry Remus," Harry whispered, pulling his eyes away from the long, thin scar and picking up the vial he'd left on his bed.

The older werewolf was quiet as Harry downed the final section of the potion, grimacing as the flavor hit him and the potion worked its way through his body.

"I know it tastes awful," Remus said finally, eyes drifting closed as he sank into the seat by Harry's bed. "I'm sorry."

Harry shook his head. "It's not the flavor. It makes me feel... Off."

"Off?" Remus opened his eyes again, furrowing his eyebrows.

"My head feels heavy, and my thoughts get cloudy," Harry mumbled as just that began to happen. "And I feel – so _weird_," Harry murmured.

"That could just be the approaching moon," Remus offered. "It isn't known to sweeten one's temper," he admitted in a sheepish tone of voice, a small smile quirking up the corners of his lips.

Harry laughed, falling back on his bed and watching the dust fly up in the air around him, reflecting in the sunlight.

"You haven't been sleeping," Remus guessed.

Harry snorted with laughter. "How can you tell?"

Remus smiled. "You should try to rest. There's no avoiding it. I know it feels as if we just delay it long enough... but being exhausted will only make it harder on you."

Harry sighed, massaging his temples. "What, exactly... are we going to do?"

Remus paused, leaning back in his chair with a contemplative look. "The idea is," he began slowly, "We'll transform in separate rooms, and provided that the potion works as it should - we'll then... Go through the night. Sleep, I suppose. Though Sirius can be excitable."

"If it doesn't work?" Harry asked.

Remus frowned. "The odds of that are phenomenally low. But in that situation - werewolves are not typically aggressive to one another. We will work through it."

Harry closed his eyes, nodding. Something cold gripped his chest inside and he felt his heart jump twice in rapid succession. He blew out a breath he hadn't meant to hold.

"What about Sirius, if it doesn't work?"

"Sirius will be fine," Remus said firmly. "He isn't what you should be worrying about."

Harry nodded mutely.

"Come downstairs for dinner," Remus suggested gently.

"Everyone's gone," Harry murmured as he strained his hearing. It got easier to use the more he practiced. The house was devoid of the normal hum of sound from the Order members, and the softly beating hearts.

"Just trying to eliminate as much stress as possible," Remus said, attempting and failing to keep the stiffness out of his voice.

"Right," Harry said disbelievingly.

He rolled over, pulling his comforter over him and finally giving in to the heavy exhaustion.

"Wake me up when-"

"-Of course," Remus said gently, staggering to his own feet with a suppressed yawn. "Do you want dinner?"

"No."

Remus nodded and slowly extended a hand to Harry's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "It'll be okay Harry. You're not alone, and you're still you," he said.

Harry didn't respond and Remus pulled back, turning and heading toward the exit and shutting the door gently behind him.

* * *

Harry jerked into consciousness, breathing heavy and quick.

His green eyes darted left and right in the dimming room, and his eyes flicked to the window.

Dusk. The sun was just beginning to set.

He could feel tension ripple down his spine as his throat closed up. He pulled his knees up to his chest and scrunched his tired eyes closed as a shudder rocked him.

He tried to force his breathing to slow, coughing dryly every few seconds. He ran his fingers through his black locks and gave a slight tug.

He could feel something, quite literally, pacing in his mind. Memories flashed through his mind's eye.

_Burning, white-hot pain. Slicing through his shoulder and into his bones, pumping through his very veins._

He could feel it now, the sting shooting through his veins. His head ached, throbbed and pulsed in time with his rapid heartbeat, blocking out all of the sounds and smells he had become accustomed to noticing.

"Oh god," he whispered hoarsely to himself, tightening the hands connected to his hair and resisting the urge to tug again. He forced his hands to unclench and fall to his side. Slowly, he lifted one, feeling for the cold sweat he swore he felt coming on.

"Harry?"

Harry jerked out of the tight ball he'd been curled up in, gracelessly falling off his bed and scrambling to his feet, maddened eyes wide.

Sirius's face hinted concern as he watched the boy. Harry licked his dry, cracked lips and tried again to steady his breathing.

"'Lo, Sirius," he whispered.

Sirius cracked a crooked smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Harry spat, temper flaring. Sirius knew how he felt. Did he need to rub it in? His eyes burned and began to water as a migraine flared behind them, and he closed them, resisting the urge to shake his head and aggravate the headache further.

Sirius's eyes widened minutely for just a second before a small frown ended the crooked grin. "I'd figure," he said lightly.

Harry staggered over toward the door, brushing past the taller man and attempting to squash the curling fear in his stomach.

"Are we going now?"

"If you're ready, yes," Sirius said gently. "Remus is waiting and setting things up, I believe. You can take a moment."

"No point," Harry said briskly. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

"Where are we going?" Harry asked as he inspected the broom that had just been handed to him.

"I got this property for Remus just after we got out of school," Sirius explained. "It can't be apparated to. I made sure of it. If I was able to apparate to it, there would be holes in the access - holes made specifically so I could be there, but still, when you put a hole in defensive magic you're weakening it. Besides, this gives me an excuse to make Remus fly there every time. I'm trying to convince him to enjoy flying."

Harry held back his opinion that maybe having him fly _this_ night every month wasn't really sweetening him to the idea - Sirius seemed to think this was all great fun. The werewolf hopped on to his broom, sighing as his muscles twinged.

"Are you allowed to be out in the open like this?" Harry asked suddenly as Sirius climbed on to his own broom.

"I'm good with memory charms," he said dismissively.

Harry laughed, partially out of the sheer stress of the moment. "Right," he said with a chuckle, pushing off the ground and sucking in a deep breath of the fresh, night air.

"I've never seen you fly," Harry said thoughtfully. "Did you and-"

Sirius laughed as he pushed up toward the other. "James and I were the best Quidditch players Gryffindor had. James considered doing it professionally for a short while," he said thoughtfully, his face getting a far-away look to it as his voice trailed off.

"Race you there," Harry blurted, ignoring the fact that he had no idea how to get to where they were going.

Sirius's gaze flicked to his face coupled with a dangerous expression. Without a word, he took off, broom hissing as it split through the air, leaving a gust of wind in Harry's face.

The werewolf smiled, despite the slowly setting sun, and leaned close to his broom, taking off after the older wizard.

* * *

Harry was laughing and out of breath when the wizard in front of him finally came to a stop, cheerfully crowing about his victory.

"So slow," he said mockingly to the younger wizard, a wild grin lighting up his features. "Not good at all. Here I was expecting quite a show."

"I didn't know how to get here you- you-" Harry struggled, resisting the impulse to insult his godfather.

Sirius arched an eyebrow. "You really need practice in that area," he said wisely. "Can't even come up with a good insult."

Harry muttered under his breath and the grey-eyed wizard pulled out his wand, murmuring incantations as he waved it in an intricate pattern.

The dark, heavy-population of pine trees beneath Harry slowly began to fade, and his mouth dropped agape as a noticeably more open clearing, with a neat, Remus-esque cottage taking its place.

"It's beautiful," Harry said warmly, pushing his broom toward the ground and touching down slowly.

"Remus likes these sort of trees better," Sirius said, nodding to the white, flowering trees lining one corner of the clearing. "They're dogwood trees," he said proudly.

"Kousa Dogwood," Remus spoke up, leaning in the doorway of the cottage with a soft smile. "They're enchanted to always be in bloom."

Harry looked at the cheerful looking trees and smiled. "Aunt Petunia had a garden, but it was all sickishly pink flowers. No trees."

Remus offered a smile back, but it was clearly strained, his gaze flicking back up to the darkened sky.

"The fruit taste good," Sirius said, stepping forward and tearing off one of the ripe, red berry-like fruits.

Remus shuddered. "Sirius is lying. They're not the best," he said warningly.

Harry felt his stomach tighten suddenly as he went to respond and his breath caught in his throat. His gaze flicked to Remus who was cringing sympathetically and offering a sad smile.

Harry forced a calm breath, his head pulsing. The wolf seemed to be pacing inside his mind, waiting.

He glanced toward where the edge of the moon was hovering in the sky, waiting to rise.

Sirius strode over toward the cottage with Harry just behind him, and gave Remus an encouraging smile. Remus sighed, massaging his temples as a shudder rippled down his spine.

Harry felt a twinge of sympathy. Sirius transformed suddenly into a dog, pressing his nose into Remus's hand and wagging his tail.

Remus chuckled, patting him on the head. "There are wards all around here," he said, nodding to the clearing around them. "We can't get out - Sirius can - and no one else can get in. I think animals can, Sirius said it adds to the scenery. But humans shouldn't be able to sense us in any way, and should instinctively move away from the area. I prefer to sleep through the transformations," he said, looking tired as ever.

Harry nodded, tilting his head back to peer out at the now rising moon. "For some reason I expected this to be worse," he mused.

Remus laughed humorlessly. Sirius barked cheerfully, spinning in a circle. Harry smiled down at him.

"Padfoot has always thought it's great fun," he said, turning away with a sigh and heading deeper into the house.

Sirius changed back, smiling. "Remus used to think it could be a bit fun too," he said. "Then he got old."

Harry smiled hesitantly, feeling weak. He sank into a seat in the opening room, sighing.

"We're the same age," Remus snapped grumpily.

Sirius laughed, changing back into Padfoot and darting around the room.

Harry's green eyes, previously pinched in a smile, widened suddenly. He sat upright, swearing that every neuron in his body fired at once in that instance.

The full moon hung bright in the sky.

* * *

Draco Malfoy stood in a darkened corridor of Malfoy Manor, tension tangible in the very air.

He was dressed in a dark, black suit, with a matching tie and undershirt. His face was pale, grey eyes bloodshot with exhaustion in the dark as he leaned by the door of the dining room.

"_The boy was bit?_"_  
_

"_What are we to tell him?_"

"_Perhaps he'll be pleased-_"

"-_No, you fool-_"

"-It would be wise not to eavesdrop, Draco."

Draco jerked away from the door, eyes widening with horror before he let out a shaking sigh of relief, shoulders collapsing. It was only Snape. He repressed the warmth he felt at the sight of his godfather, anxiety forcing him to glance up, eyes filled with suspicion.

"Don't tell me what to do," he said lowly, flexing his jaw.

Snape's expression remained impassive.

"Your mother has become concerned for your safety," he spoke in a low, quick monotone. "The Dark Lord is planning something. You will be relocating in hopes of remaining in the back of his mind."

"You can't take me from my home," Draco snapped, hands curling into fists as he glared down at the man.

He had overtaken him in height in the summer months, he was pleased to note. Snape blinked at him as if he were Harry Potter on a particularly slow day in potions.

"It was not an option."

He grabbed the blond by the wrist and spun, the two disappearing in silent dissaparation.

* * *

Draco found himself in an unfamiliar house and room, filled with heavy, old, leather furniture. Bookcases lined every wall.

Standing near the door was his mother, whose face filled with elation at the sight of him. She stepped forward, pale face having aged more in the past four years than one would think was possible. She looked nearly frail and Draco stood stiff as a board as she reached forward, embracing him warmly.

He finally relented, returning the hug gently and sighing, his normally impassive or angry expression dropping into one of soft stress and sadness.

"You have to go Draco, I'm sorry," she whispered.

He dropped his arms, moving away from the hug. "I'm not leaving you," he said harshly, hands curling into fists and grey eyes narrowing. His father might have given up - he might be Voldemort's puppet - but Draco wasn't.

Her blue-grey eyes looked suspiciously moist and she reached up a hand, brushing at her eyelashes gently and smiling. "I love you, Draco," she said in a rare, open sign of affection. "But I'm not asking you to do this for yourself. I'm asking this for me. Please. You can return home in time, just go with Severus for now. I worry-"

"-Fenrir bit someone, didn't he?" Draco asked, mind flicking back to the partially overheard conversation. "Someone important. You're worried that the - the Dark L- that he'll be mad. Why would he be angry? How was Dad involved?"

She shook her head. "It's better there are things you don't know, Draco," she said gently, expression tense.

"Why can't you tell me?" he demanded. "If you're trying to protect me, it's a little too late for that," he snapped. He exhaled shakily, closing his eyes and quickly banishing the memories threatening the forefront of his mind.

"Knowledge has a price," Snape said coldly from where he stood, dark eyes narrowed.

Draco cleared his mind as best he could as the dark gaze bored into his own, blanking his mind.

"I can handle myself."

Snape frowned, blinking and nodding, breaking eye contact. "You've been practicing. Well done," he said in a clipped tone. "That doesn't change that we're leaving."

Draco sighed, hands running up and through his hair of their own accord, mussing the usually carefully-combed style into a near-white mess.

"You won't be coming with us?" Draco guessed, looking up to his mother.

She shook her head, cupping his cheek gently with a smile. "I'll visit. And you_ will_ be home as soon as this all dies down. I promise you."

Draco swallowed, nodding slowly. "Okay," he croaked, scrubbing his face with both hands and nodding through the movement. He dropped his hands to his side, turning to look at Snape. "This isn't the place, I'd guess?"

"No, it isn't," he said. He extended his arm, normally impassive face showing a small degree of sympathy as the blond shot his mother one last hesitant look.

"Take care of him Severus," Narcissa whispered.

Draco bristled as he settled his hand on to the older wizard's arm.

Snape nodded, and the two disappeared once again.

* * *

"_This_ is it?" Draco drawled as the two apparated to the outside of a simple cottage surrounded by a dark forest. A cobblestone path led up to the front.

"It's a safe house, not a manor," Snape replied, walking up the path and waving his wand, testing the defenses.

Draco frowned thoughtfully, looking the cottage up and down.

He glanced up to the sky, and noted the full moon. A shudder raced down his spine as he imagined Fenrir right now.

He suddenly felt a swell of gratitude at being forced to leave the manor.

Draco stepped inside the house after the other, shutting the door slowly. "How long will I be here?"

"That has yet to be decided. I assure you, it will not be long."

"Will I spend Christmas at home?" he asked, walking past the sofa and peering out the window into the dark woods, a curious smile turning up the corners of his lips.

"Naturally," Snape murmured.

Draco walked over to a nearby bookshelf, pulling out a book on werewolves and grimacing at the cover.

Snape disappeared up the steps of the house and Draco watched him leave with an uncaring shrug. He sank into one of the nearby chairs with the book, scowling at it hatefully.

Fenrir and his _pack_ had been around the manor more and more lately. It was nauseating. Fenrir had taken a keen interest in tormenting Draco. Lucius did his best to keep out of his way.

Draco sighed, feeling some of the stress from the past few months beginning to melt. He whistled quietly, lifting his head.

Perfidis - a large eagle owl familiar who had been in the family for years - darted into the room, fluffing his wings importantly as he perched on the armrest next to the boy.

Draco stroked the owl absent-mindedly as he reached over to the writing desk nearby, taking out a quill and some spare parchment.

"I need you to get this to Blaise," Draco explained to the owl as he began to write. "But it needs to be indirect. Carry it a few miles, double back, get tree coverage. Trade off to another owl if there are any you trust in doing this. Confirm he gets the letter before returning. I've addressed it incorrectly, but you know Blaise Zabini."

The owl hooted in confirmation, sticking out his leg impatiently as Draco rolled up the parchment and waved his wand to place a seal. He wrapped it gently around the owl's leg, nodding his thanks and patting the owl's soft feathers.

The giant owl lifted up off the perch and hovered as Draco pushed open the window. It flew out, wings silent against the bracing wind outside.

Draco took a deep breath and felt a pang of longing. Walks around the manor had been prohibited ever since the Death Eaters had made the manor their base.

He bit his lip contemplatively, pushing the window closed again and peering curiously at the dark staircase where Snape had disappeared to.

_I'll just take a quick walk, he won't even know I'm missing, _Draco thought confidently, nodding to himself as he pushed off of the chair and toward the door.

He shut it behind him, and took off at a brisk jog down the stone path, his animagus transformation shimmering his form briefly.

A brilliant arctic wolf stood where the white-blond had once been. The wind ruffled his thick fur and he turned his nose up to the sky, his grey eyes reflecting the moon.

He took off, not wanting the pursuit of the wizard in the cottage to come too soon. He pushed his legs forward, into the forest. Four paws hit the hard, dry ground in a low, rhythmic pattern.

* * *

The pain all over his body slowly beginning to ebb, Harry instinctively got to his... _paws._

Four paws.

He took in a deep breath, and the smells that were normally so overwhelming in his human form seemed crisper but easier to manage in this mind. He turned his head right, and then to the left, taking in the strange sights around him.

He took a tentative step forward before stumbling pathetically, a little unsure how to work his new limbs.

A sandy-furred wolf caught his attention at the end of the room, posture tired as he peered in hesitantly.

_Remus_, Harry reminded his slow-moving brain, struggling to his paws again. He let out an awkward, low bark that didn't sound right coming from his vocal chords. Maybe wolves didn't bark.

An answering bark from a massive black dog that appeared at the sandy wolf's side startled the green-eyed werewolf. He flared his nostrils, drawing in the scents before nodding encouragingly.

The dog - whose size Harry hadn't really appreciated in human form - bounded forward, tail wagging playfully. The sandy wolf pinned its ears but Harry leaned forward eagerly, sniffing the black dog. It barked again, bounding in a circle around him.

Harry struggled to a standing position once more, finally beginning to figure out how to work four legs at once. He lowered his chest to the ground, preparing to pounce at the taunting black dog.

His mind felt clear and light. Lighter than it ever had, unable to focus on deep, human-like emotions. He knew he felt happy, though. He recognized Sirius and Remus, and felt no small amount of warmth in their company.

The 'wolf', as Harry had dubbed the dark weight that seemed to loom in his mind the entire week leading up to the transformation, even now seemed mysteriously gone.

* * *

Draco pushed through the forest, further and further from the cottage, the ground vanishing under his large strides. He stopped suddenly, taken by impulse and threw his head back into the sky, loosing a lonely howl as he thought of his home.

He threw himself forward again, bounding through the forest. He wondered how far he could run.

When would he need to stop? He could keep going forever. Being an unregistered animagus had its perks. He could live the rest of his life never having to deal with Voldemort, or the Death Eaters, ever again.

He shook the cowardly thoughts out of his head, slowing to a light trot forward, paws moving silently over the leaf-ridden ground. It was hard on his animagus's mind to deal with the deep, human-esque thoughts.

He watched a rabbit startle nearby, racing away from the large, snowy-white predator.

As he continued to walk forward, he suddenly found himself turning around, heading back toward the cottage.

He really wanted to go back to the cottage.

No, no he didn't. He wanted to go on a walk.

Draco forced his paws to a stop and felt within his mind, feeling a forceful presence shoving him away from the direction he'd been walking.

He recognized it as defensive wall magic, like what was used against muggles on the Leaky Cauldron.

He forced his legs in the direction he'd been going. The force of the magic was nearly dizzying but he pressed onward.

And then, he heard it.

A wolf was howling. A cheerful, short howl. A dog barked in return. There was some panting, the sound of paws digging into the hard earth as they raced forward.

Draco took a few curious steps forward without thinking. There was the sound of snuffling, but nothing was visible. He took a few steps forward and-

The forest in front of him fizzled from view. He found himself standing at the edge of a clearing. It was very large, with quite a bit of running room. An orchard of dogwood trees stood between him and the cottage that he could barely make out.

A massive black wolf stood before him, and Draco bristled, grey eyes widening.

The raven-black wolf had vibrant, expressive green eyes, and a strangely short muzzle. He was perhaps an inch shorter than Draco - or a bit less - but more muscular, with a lower-swung front and larger paws.

Draco felt his body lock into place as shock consumed him. He didn't dare risk a glance at the surely-taunting full moon.

It wasn't a _wolf_.

The werewolf stepped toward him curiously, its nose extended. It gave him an almost appreciative sniff. Its ears were lifted, shoulders squared much like Draco's, tail wagging slightly.

Draco stiffened, his tail lifting and his ears pointed sharply forward. The werewolf lowered its ears and tail slightly in response, but its eyes were still lit with a sort of wonder and curiosity.

Draco sniffed the inquisitive muzzle curiously, his posture beginning to relax. The two curiously drew in each other's scents, whiskers brushing.

The werewolf carried a strong scent of magic. But then, Draco had never smelled a werewolf, so perhaps that was just how they were. On top of that, he carried a light scent like a fall breeze, crushed leaves and a sweet sort of spice like pumpkin, with hints of firewood on a cool day. Draco let his grey eyes drift closed as his wolf committed it to memory.

The werewolf licked at his nose and Draco jumped back, head held high. The werewolf threw his head back and gave a playful howl, before looking inquisitively to Draco, as if expecting him to do it in return.

Draco stared at the werewolf for a long moment. His green eyes were hauntingly familiar, but as hard as he tried in his wolf's mind, he couldn't place it. Not wanting to insult the creature by ignoring his gesture, Draco tipped his head back and gave a low howl in return.

The raven-black werewolf seemed greatly amused or pleased by this, and he dropped his front to the ground, expression playful. His ears were slightly laid back, his forehead smoothed with slightly raised brows. His muzzle was relaxed, his jaw slightly dropped agape with his fur lying flat. His tail was a bit higher, wagging slightly back and forth.

Draco slowly mirrored the gesture, and the werewolf seemed overwhelmingly pleased. He lunged forward, prodding Draco's shoulder with his nose before bounding off a short distance.

Draco hesitated before following after him, trying to keep the tense wariness out of his posture. He leaped forward playfully with a false growl and the werewolf yipped in response, wheeling to face him. He licked at Draco's muzzle, and Draco pinned his ears, leaning away from the contact stiffly.

The werewolf's ears turned sideways and he took another step forward, peering very seriously into Draco's grey eyes.

Draco felt a moment of panic. He didn't know how werewolves responded to animagi. Would he attack if he realized Draco wasn't a real wolf? He tried to calm his growing fear, knowing it would show in his scent and posture. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to respond to the lick positively or negatively, but he was getting the feeling his response hadn't been quite right.

Before things could advance past that, from the orchard appeared two large, canine figures. Draco stiffened, pulling himself up high and his fur bristling at the sight.

The werewolf turned to face the two, who began approaching quickly. He wagged his tail in greeting, and turned back to look at his newfound friend.

Draco took off, darting back through the barrier and away from sight as quickly as he could.

* * *

Harry watched his strange wolf friend disappear from view and felt a pang of sadness.

The wolf had been strange to interact with, sure. Maybe he could tell that Harry wasn't very good at wolf socialization yet. Licking his nose hadn't felt like a bad move, though.

It had seemed to upset him all the same. There was also the question of what exactly an arctic wolf was doing in this part of England?

But then again, Harry didn't know a whole lot about wolves. Maybe it had been a magical variation of a wolf. That would make sense. Or a normal wolf that had some sort of spell cast over it that gave it a weird set of eyes and a flashy coat.

Harry liked his smell. He was sure he'd never forget it. It was the wind on a Quidditch field, the taste of a Snitch, a hint of magic, and sweet winter mints, softer and less abrasive than peppermints but with a lasting chill.

Sirius and Remus approached, looking thoroughly on edge, and Harry flopped sadly on to the ground on his stomach, sighing.

He glared at the two, somehow knowing it was their fault that the wolf had ran off. Sirius returned the glare playfully while Remus stared off into the distance, drawing in slow, contemplative breaths and flaring his nostrils.

The sandy werewolf shook his head, stretching his legs forward and giving a yawn. He shot the black dog next to him a glare.

Sirius stepped around Harry's unmoving figure and narrowed his eyes as he drew in the scent on the ground, inhaling and exhaling in quick succession.

Remus barked suddenly, drawing the attention of the two other canines. He nodded up to the sky, and Harry turned up his head.

Dawn was breaking.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

* * *

**A/N:** _Onwards...  
_

* * *

"Harry are you ready to go?" Hermione called up the steps.

Harry threw his final things into his trunk, batting away the twinge of irritation at her shout. She didn't know he could hear her if she had whispered it, and it wasn't _her_ fault that his muscles were still aching.

"Yeah!" he called down as he heard her step toward the staircase and prepare to shout again. He shoved his glasses on his face, trying to ignore the irritation the wall of glass between him and the world caused.

It was for keeping up appearances.

He hummed to himself, replaying his conversation with Dumbledore and Remus.

To avoid suspicion, Ron had offered to take Polyjuice one or two times so it would look as if_ he_ were disappearing for the day, for whatever reason. That way it wouldn't look like Harry was leaving every month consistently.

Harry would leave the first time to "see his muggle family". Aunt Petunia was "very ill". As far as everyone knew, she had been his loving motherly figure.

According to Dumbledore, the entire staff was not aware of his condition. It was limited to himself, Professor McGonagall, Hagrid and Snape. Harry hadn't gotten around to asking why.

He would transform in the Shrieking Shack - or, the "Newly Refurbished Shrieking Shack" as Dumbledore had dubbed it - and in general he'd do his best to avoid suspicion. Sirius wouldn't be able to visit - apparently it was too risky.

So, he'd be transforming alone.

In the most haunted house in the wizarding world.

No big deal.

Remus assured him it was not that bad. Nor was it haunted.

Overall, life would go on. Wolfsbane every month, he'd probably sleep through the transformations, and hopefully no one would find out. The concern was back on the war.

From what Harry had successfully managed to eavesdrop, the attack hadn't been planned by Voldemort. That was what the Order's source said at least.

It had been suggested that Fenrir had planned it himself, for whatever reason. It had then been suggested that Remus go _back undercover_ to find out.

Sirius had been enraged.

Harry scowled at the memory, fury curling up inside of him. They had never faced Fenrir, they had _no idea_ what they were suggesting. Forget the fact that he was the one who had turned Remus in the first place. That wasn't something you just _forgot_ for the sake of the Order. It was torture.

It'd taken all of his willpower not to go downstairs and hex Snape to hell and back for even daring to suggest it. Sirius, from the sounds of it, had tried.

He got the vague feeling that Remus had heard him snarling curses from upstairs, because after that, the meetings had been silent. No matter how hard he strained his ears, he heard an unnatural level of silence.

Huffing grumpily, Harry waved his wand, the trunk shooting into the air and narrowly avoiding the high ceiling. He lowered his wand slightly, willing the trunk to hover at a more appropriate height.

On the upside, since the transformation, he felt almost like he and his wand had a deeper bond. It had also gained a long, thin scar on the left side. Dumbledore had said that some wands were more closely attached to their owners than others, and that was normal.

He placed it carefully in his robe pockets and started down the steps.

Hermione beamed at him. Ron offered him a quick grin from where he stood by the fireplace, floo powder in hand.

Harry smiled back. "Congratulations, by the way," he said suddenly, his gaze flicking to both of their badges. "I entirely forgot."

"Oh, thanks!" Ron said, puffing out his chest proudly. "I mean, I didn't expect it, you know. I kind of thought that, well, you-" he cut off suddenly, the tips of his ears turning pink.

"Guess I'm a little too busy," Harry said hesitantly, forcing a grim smile. "Sick aunt, and all that."

Ron flinched, nodding. "I'm kidding Ron. You deserve it," Harry said, stepping around him and reaching for the powder, tossing it into the fireplace as he stepped inside.

"Platform Nine and Three-Quarters."

* * *

Owls hooting, heels clicking, kids promising to be in whatever House. A baby crying, a cane tapping, an owl got loose, now someone had lost their cat.

_My god, does everyone have to talk louder in places like this? Maybe if they all whispered they wouldn't feel the need to screech over each other._

And the scents were nauseating. It seemed that every witch there was wearing some obnoxious brand of perfume.

_And_ felt the need to put the _entire_ bottle on.

Harry closed his eyes, drawing in a slow, steadying breath. Hermione stepped out behind him and he immediately spun to face her, green eyes wide with stress.

Her brows furrowed in worry as he stepped closer to her and drew her into a warm hug, exhaling sharply and fighting the ringing in his ears.

Ron stepped out a few seconds after to her to see them hugging and scowled as Harry took a deep breath in, nose pressed to her curly brown locks. He sighed, leaning away from the embrace.

"Harry?" she asked in surprise, her cheeks looking somewhat pinker than before.

"You changed shampoo," he said. He offered her a terse smile, then turned, looking around hesitantly and trying to lock Hermione's scent in mind as he had done with Shacklebolt.

Books and peaches; and of course, an undefinable singular scent that followed each person around. Harry got the feeling it was some sort of magical signature.

"Books and peaches," he mumbled out loud, eyes drifting closed.

Hermione shot him a look of concern and Ron huffed. "We need to go, Hermione, to the prefect's compartment. There's a meeting," he said stiffly, arms crossed.

Harry's eyes flew wide and he frowned. "A meeting?"

Hermione frowned apologetically as the three strode toward the train, Harry doing his best to block out the noisy chatter surrounding. "Yes, I'm sorry Harry. We don't really want to go, but we don't have a choice."

Harry's shoulders slumped forward. "Right, sure," he muttered. He coughed as a woman strode past, the stench of her perfume seeming almost painful.

The trio stepped on to the train and Hermione said more quick apologies as she made toward the back of the train. He shrugged, avoiding eye contact and ignoring Ron's grumpy glare as the two strode off.

_Winter mint and Quidditch._

His head shot up as the scent drifted past and his green eyes shot from corner to corner, desperately trying to locate it.

Malfoy sneered at him angrily from where he stood outside of his compartment and Harry returned the glare, still searching for the location of the scent.

It was fading though - quickly. Malfoy shut the compartment door behind him and Harry grumbled to himself, blaming Malfoy for his bad luck. He ruined everything.

_The white wolf is someone at Hogwarts,_ Harry realized as he pushed open a compartment door, waving absentmindedly to Luna and shutting the door behind himself. He sank into his seat, frowning in thought.

"Hello Harry," Luna said in a tinkling voice.

"Hey Luna," he greeted, looking up and smiling.

"You have more wrackspurts than usual," she said from behind her large, wrackspurts-sensing glasses. She wore a flattering, black-blue dress that seemed to be made of feathers, and an enchanted origami bird was playing around in her hair, which was twirled up to look like a bird's nest. "I hear that's a side-affect of lycanthropy, though."

Harry's blood ran cold.

"Oh don't worry, I'm not going to tell anyone," she said in a lofty voice as she pulled off her glasses, tucking them away in her bag with a distant smile. "Your secret's safe with me."

"How did you know?" Harry asked quietly, green eyes still round with horror as he shot a quick glance to the compartment door, to make sure no one was listening in. He briefly glanced to his shoulder, just to make sure the scar was still covered.

"It's obvious isn't it?" she asked with a soft frown. "Your hair has clearly been attacked by whimsylicks, and everyone knows they have a vendetta against werewolves."

Harry blinked, before sitting back slowly. "Right. Well, uh, yes, please don't tell anyone," he said slowly, frowning.

Luna beamed, nodding cheerfully. "How was your summer, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "Had better, actually," he said finally. He let out a loud laugh, smiling. "Excited to be going back to school."

Luna smiled. "I like school too. This summer me and my dad went Crumple-Headed Snorkak searching."

The werewolf nodded. "Any luck?" he asked curiously, stretching back into his seat, finding himself strangely pleased at the ease of the conversation with the blonde Ravenclaw.

She shook her head. "None yet, but I suspect we might have more luck over the holidays. They like Christmas, you know."

The green-eyed wizard nodded knowingly.

* * *

"It looks like we're here." Luna's voice startled him from his half-sleep and he sat upright. "Thank you for the Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans, Harry," she said cheerfully as she popped one into her mouth.

He blinked the sleep from his eyes, nodding slowly as his brain recalled the purchase of the candies from the trolley earlier.

He'd offered her chocolate, but she'd insisted on the jellybeans.

"No problem. I'm... glad you like them, Luna," he said. "What flavor is that?" he asked as she popped a grey, dark-speckled one into her mouth.

"Black pepper," she said cheerfully.

He nodded, stretching his arms up toward the ceiling of the compartment with a yawn. "Well, I'll see you around," he said, pulling himself to his feet.

"See you, Harry."

* * *

"How'd the meeting go?" Harry asked as the three of them met up outside the train.

"Awful, you'd never believe," Hermione snapped to his surprise, stomping toward the castle. "Honestly, I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking-"

"-What are you talking about?" Harry asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Ron sighed. "Malfoy's a prefect, too," he explained, looking grumpy.

Harry blinked, trying to shake off the hurt that prodded his insides at this revelation.

Dumbledore had picked _Malfoy,_ but Harry apparently hadn't been good enough?

He shook it off. _Dumbledore just didn't think you'd want the responsibility on top of everything. You know that. And you know it's true,_ he lectured himself internally, shoulders tense as he stalked toward the castle.

"-And frankly I think it makes some sort of sense if you think about it. Besides, she is just so rude," Hermione finished whatever she had been on about. Harry looked up and nodded agreeably, and she nodded in return.

"I mean, remember last year, with Rita Skeeter? That was just ridiculous."

_Here we go,_ Harry braced himself as he pushed open the door to the castle. Warmth bubbled up inside him despite his trepidation, and a small smile lit his features.

It was good to be home.

* * *

"Bet you the gamekeeper's the first to go," Pansy drawled. "She hates half-breeds."

Draco rolled his eyes, stabbing his carrot angrily. "She's nauseating, and she's going nowhere. Her blood status is questionable, anyway. Just because you cover something up doesn't mean it isn't there."

Pansy looked startled, and tapped her red nails against the dark, wooden table in thought. "So you aren't pleased she's here?"

Draco shrugged both shoulders. "She'll kiss up to me. She wants on my Dad's good side. And she'll get rid of Dumbledore. I'm just saying she's not someone to look up to."

"You seem off, Draco," Blaise Zabini cut in, arching both eyebrows. "Normally you'd be rejoicing over anything that'd put Potter in a bad mood."

Draco looked up sharply, as if just now remembering that.

"You're a prefect?" Daphne Greengrass asked suddenly, eyes wide as she noted the badge for the first time.

The blond Slytherin shrugged. "Yeah," he said dismissively. He narrowed his eyes across the hall, looking at Potter for the first time.

He looked stressed, eyes wide and posture tense as he glanced about. He jumped when Weaslette flung into a seat next to him, but didn't say anything.

"I think I'm going to do my first duty as a Prefect," Draco said distantly, getting to his feet with a wide smirk. "Crabbe, Goyle. Walk quietly," he snapped to his shadows as he righted his robes, fixing his collar as he strode toward the Gryffindor table.

* * *

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of a vital importance. Although each headmaster has brought something new to this... _historic_ school, progress - for the sake of progress - must be discouraged. Let us preserve what must be preserved, perfect what can be perfected and prune practices that ought to be... prohibited!" Umbridge stood up at the staff table, puffed up like a giant, inflated pink toad, her cheeks nauseatingly bright.

"I hate her," Harry snarled, eyes narrowed up at her from where he sat at his table, prodding his steak angrily.

Hermione looked to him in surprise. "You... understood that, Harry?" she asked slowly.

"Understood what?" Ron asked as he swallowed a bite of bread.

"She stinks," Harry grumbled, pinching his eyes closed. "Horribly."

"But don't you see what she's saying?" Hermione whispered angrily as Dumbledore took over the speech once more.

"She's prohibiting things," Ron said slowly. "So, she's going to ban stuff."

"I could smell the sugar from her tea from over here," Harry snarled, then jumped, surprised at his own tone.

Hermione shot him a serious look and Ron stopped eating for a second. "Hey Gin," Ron said.

"It means," Hermione said finally, setting her jaw in anger, "that the Ministry has decided to interfere at Hogwarts."

"Wotcher, Harry," Ginny said. Harry nearly jumped out of his seat, drawing in a sharp breath.

"Oh, hi, Ginny," he mumbled, sinking back into his seat and shooting Ron and her a discreet glare as he remembered his disagreement with the redhead a couple weeks ago.

His eyes flew wide suddenly as Ginny's distinct scent hit him. He resisted the urge to cover his nose.

It was like inhaling cinnamon. Not that there was anything wrong with cinnamon, but it was borderline painful. Drying, and spicy with cloying sweetness. Maybe it wasn't a magical signature he was sensing, after all. Maybe it was...a person's signature?

He had no idea why Ginny's was so bad, but he knew he couldn't eat if she was going to be around.

He coughed weakly, turning his head away, discreetly covering his nose.

"_J__umpy, Potter_?"

Malfoy's voice sounded from just a few inches from behind Harry. He leapt to his feet, green eyes wide as he sucked in a shocked breath, spinning to face the Slytherin. He quickly pulled out his wand, green eyes flashing as anger bubbled up inside him.

"Tut-tut," Draco drawled, grinning and pointing slowly to the shining prefect badge on his chest. Harry's chest rose and fall rapidly with sharp breaths of anger as he balled his hands into fists. "Going to have to take points from Gryffindor already. Negatives is an impressive feat, Potter. Even for Gryffindor. Let's see, hmm... Ten points for attempted assault on a superior."

"You aren't a bloody _superior_," Harry snarled lowly, keeping his wand out, holding his breath without thinking.

"Sure I am. Looks like Dumbledore didn't love his _golden boy_ enough to give him a badge, did he?" Draco drawled slowly, eyebrows arched.

Harry shook with rage. Trust Malfoy to know just why this would get to him. _Not that it does get to me. That bloody ferret has no idea what he's talking about-_

Harry opened his mouth to retort before suddenly, the familiar scent of the white wolf twined through the air. Harry's wolf stirred in his mind, seeming to lift its head and wag its tail. Unbidden warmth flooded from his core, a sense of familiarity like coming home to Hogwarts.

_No._

Slowly, his green eyes widened as he stared into the eerily familiar grey ones. "_You_-" he stared without thinking before snapping his mouth closed, his wand arm having fallen slack.

Draco slowly arched one eyebrow. "Five points for being absolutely mad," he added casually, walking off with a playful wiggle of his fingers. "See you, Potty - Weasel," he called. Crabbe and Goyle followed after him, wands out, looking even more brutish than the year before.

Goyle looked to be attempting to tip-toe.

"It's _him_?" Harry whispered slowly.

"Yeah, that's Malfoy, mate," Ron said.

"He can't _actually_ take points already," Hermione snapped, poking her green beans with her fork with a frown. "Negative points don't exist, do they?"

Ron shrugged.

Harry fell back into his seat with a frown.

"Is everything all right Harry?" Ginny leaned in closer, her long red hair carrying her stomach-churning scent. He scooted away unconsciously, teeth gritting.

He forced a shrug, closing his eyes and scowling. He put his elbows on the table and planted his face in his palms, eyes pinched closed.

_How could it be him? What was he doing so far away from Malfoy Manor? How was he not afraid of me? Why do I even care? It's not like I knew the wolf that well. I guess I liked him. But this is stupid. I shouldn't be this disappointed. It's all my - the _wolf_'s fault. Of course he'd like Malfoy. They both love to ruin my life. When did Malfoy become an animagus, anyway?_

"Harry, dinner's over," Hermione said in a tone that suggested she was repeating herself. Harry pulled his head up, mouth dropping agape in surprise. "Oh, right," he said, nodding. "Thanks Hermione. I'm - I'm tired. Night," he said shortly, gathering up his bag and letting out a deep exhale, shaking himself.

* * *

"Potter seems awfully upset, what'd you do to him?" Pansy purred as Draco sank back into his seat.

Draco scowled, shrugging. "Just said hello," he murmured, eyes narrowed.

_His green eyes had been disturbingly familiar. And the way he'd reacted..._

But, it was impossible. If Potter was a werewolf, Draco would have realized it by now.

"You said _hello_?" Pansy asked incredulously, arching one well-groomed eyebrow.

Draco blew out a breath, nodding and leaning back from the table. "Took points, or tried. Don't think I actually can."

"Oh," Pansy said slowly, eyebrows furrowing.

Draco pushed his piece of sushi around on his plate, sucking on his teeth thoughtfully. "I think I'm done with dinner," he said finally, getting to his feet.

"Is everything okay Draco?" Pansy asked gently, hand reaching out and grabbing his bicep.

He pulled out of her grip, nodding. "Just tired," he said dismissively, clearing his mind like he'd practiced more the last few weeks.

Living with Snape taught you to keep your mind and emotions clear as often as possible. He'd grown increasingly suspicious when Draco went looking for the werewolf in his animagus form a few other nights in a row.

For some reason, it felt private. And he got the feeling it fell under 'not keeping him safe' if he was allowed to befriend werewolves, so he doubted Severus would have let it go on if just out of respect for his mother's wishes.

Blaise frowned at him from where he sat and Draco shook his head, walking off alone. Blaise was a good friend, but he wasn't in the mood to talk.

_I need to go for a walk,_ Draco thought suddenly, loosening his tie as he headed for the doors of the Great Hall. He smiled, thinking about how his mother would react to that. He made a mental note to get rid of the habit before he went back home for the holidays.

* * *

Harry took a deep breath of the fresh air, pulling away from the open window with a deep sigh as he drank in the scents of his common room that he'd been oddly blind to all these years.

Smelled a bit like firewood in winter. And feathers.

Heaving a sigh, he threw himself down on to his bed, drawing in the scents slowly and calculatingly. He rolled over, ignoring the blankets and staring blankly up at the ceiling.

There was no way _Malfoy_ was the white wolf. That much was certain.

He scoffed at even believing the thought for a second. "Idiot," he mumbled, blaming the wolf in his head.

_Maybe some people have the same smell?_

He had a hard time believing that, with how acute his sense of smell was. Besides, it was quite obviously a signature. Those had to be like fingerprints. They're always unique. Maybe he hadn't looked at Malfoy's closely enough?

He'd get a better sense of it when he got the chance. There were surely small differences he'd just missed.

He smiled, pressing a hand slowly to his forehead. He let his eyes drift closed, licking his dry lips and coughing. He hated this. Feeling _sick_.

The full moon came too frequently. He was never free of it. There was the week _of_ it, where the wolf awoke and the irritability began, the week after it where your muscles all ache, the week before it where you feel ill in every way and can barely eat, and then then those precious few days in between where you can try as hard as you like to forget.

Harry smiled dryly to himself. He reached up a hand, touching the scar on his forehead gently. "It's nice of you to cause me problems as if I'm not busy enough already," he informed it as it twinged, stinging angrily.

"Hmp, talking to yourself. Good for battle strategy," a knight painting on the wall informed him warmly, nodding.

Harry laughed into the empty room.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

* * *

**A/N: **_Onwards..._

* * *

"How are you feeling, Harry?"

Harry lifted his head from his arms very slowly, eyes narrowed as a growl built in his chest.

Ginny held up both hands defensively, eyebrows raising as she looked back down to her plate.

"Oy, she just asked how you were feeling," Ron snapped.

Harry turned the glare to him.

"I think he wants some quiet," Hermione suggested, huffing.

Harry buried his head back into his arms with a sigh, squeezing his elbows around his ears to help block the sound.

"You know he can't help it," Hermione whispered sharply to Ron. "It's really insensitive of you to-"

"-He _growled_-"

Hermione scowled heavily at the word usage, despite its truth. She had been very careful about avoiding anything that even in some distant way suggested that Harry might be a werewolf.

"-I mean _glared,_" Ron amended, huffing impatiently, "at Ginny!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ginny, are you hurt?" she asked mockingly.

Ginny sighed dramatically, clutching a hand to her chest. "Horribly wounded. And you know what would make me feel better?" she asked very seriously. "My older brother coming to my rescue."

Harry resisted the urge to smack his forehead into the table.

Honestly, they never shut up, did they? His head throbbed with every grumbling complaint, squeak and greeting. The screech of shoes against the floor, the sniffling sobs of a Hufflepuff from a table over about how her boyfriend had dumped her.

And Ginny was wearing a new perfume, and it made everything even worse. She kept trying to lean past Harry too, as if she was hoping he'd notice.

Maybe he should tell her it gave her the lovely aroma of pumpkin-spiced puke.

He smiled at the thought of Ron's expression.

"Maybe you should go lay down Harry," Hermione suggested.

Harry sat upright, bloodshot eyes flashing as he gave her the meanest look he could manage. "If I could sleep, do you think I'd be down here?" he asked slowly, gritting his teeth.

She sighed, frowning and look at her plate. "Maybe you should tell Professor Dumbledore-"

"-It's _fine,_" Harry spat.

She wouldn't give up the idea that Harry should go and tell Dumbledore that his _scar_ was hurting.

Who even cared? Dumbledore was busy. And as if that was on the top list of Harry's concern.

The full moon was in three days, and he felt positively dreadful. He'd considered asking to return to Grimmauld Place for the transformation, but he didn't figure there'd be much luck.

Harry shivered, shaking his head rapidly and running a hand through his messy black locks. "It's cold in here," he muttered.

"It's seventy degrees," Hermione said worriedly.

Harry shrugged. "Right. Whatever," he mumbled, sighing again and sinking his head back into the nest he'd made with his arms.

He'd been doing some reading on werewolves and animagi. Apparently, a werewolf could form pack-like bonds to an animagus and other werewolves. The pack provides a sense of stability and home. This creates deep feelings of trust and happiness when around pack members; which would explain Harry's instinctual response to the wolf animagus.

Who _wasn't_ Draco. Pompous, stupid git. Harry didn't know who it was, but it wasn't him, and that's all that mattered.

"Who's a stupid git?" Ron asked angrily.

Harry looked up slowly, lip curling in anger.

"Language, Weasel. Five points," Draco drawled cheerfully from Harry's left.

Harry jerked upright, green eyes widening as the scent assaulted him once more. He filtered through his mind, looking for the grumpiness he'd been channeling at his friends and hoping to vent it on to the blond.

But the anger was gone, as well as a great deal of tension in his core that he hadn't realized he'd been harboring.

"You can't take points from other prefects," Ron snapped, scowling.

Draco laughed. "I just did. Isn't that sad." His grey gaze focused steadily on Harry, eyes narrowed. "Something wrong, Potter?"

Harry sneered at him. "Go away," he snapped, tired gaze unsteady.

Draco's head tilted slowly. "Your Aunt's sick, isn't that right?" he asked slowly.

Harry flinched at his tone, shoulders pulling back and head lifting in a defiant gesture. "Yeah, she is, now sod off, _Malfoy_."

"Looks like she might have given you whatever it is she had," Draco said, tone dangerous. "You don't look so well."

Harry didn't have the mental energy to banter. He pulled himself to his feet, reaching for his wand angrily, eyes flashing.

Draco looked slowly down at his wand, then arched both pale eyebrows as he seemed to run his eyes along the thin scar marking its side.

Harry felt his stomach clench.

There was no way he _knew_.

Harry resisted the urge to snarl as he drew in breath after breath, trying to imagine Draco with Ginny's stench as the scent tugged at memories in his mind, his werewolf pacing cheerfully.

_Not the animagus. There's no way. There has to be a subtle difference,_ he reminded himself, a dawning expression flitting over his face. He unintentionally leaned closer to the Slytherin, drawing in a slow, deep breath through his nose.

Draco's face curled in a mixture of anger and confusion.

_Winter mint, snow falling softly, a fresh morning breeze after rain, the Quidditch pitch, a hint of fresh metal, magic_-

"Get away from me," Draco snarled. Harry jumped, startled when he realized the other's wand was now pointed to his chest, his grey gaze threatening. He'd gotten lost in the sensation and depth of the signature, it was like a thousand images playing in his head, and so much more unique than he'd realized upon first glance.

Harry leaned back, fighting the flush creeping up his neck and swallowing thickly. "Yeah, well, you get away from me," he sniped, hands curling into fists as he glared, green eyes still wide with disbelief, which somewhat ruined the effect.

Draco snorted, rolling his eyes and stuffing his wand away. "Feel better, Potter, the fever looks like it's gone to your head," he said sarcastically, turning away and heading toward the Slytherin table.

Harry stayed standing, watching him go, his hands still clenched into fists and his cheeks burning.

It _was_ him.

"Shit," he mumbled, sinking slowly back into his seat.

* * *

"Potter looked like he might snog you for a moment there," Blaise said with an amused expression, sinking into his seat next to Draco with a bored yawn. "That, or hex you. Couldn't quite pick one."

Draco snorted and Pansy looked affronted. "What? What happened?"

Blaise sighed, shrugging. "It's called a joke, Parkinson," he said dryly.

She turned her gaze to Crabbe, delicate features set in a firm scowl. "Crabbe, what happened?"

Crabbe shrugged one shoulder, and Blaise laughed. "Feeling threatened by Potter, Pansy? You should go give him a piece of your mind," he said very seriously, dark eyes bright with amusement. "Let him know to keep his grubby hands off, and all that."

"I heard his aunt is sick," Daphne chirped up. "Seems awfully torn up about it."

_No, he didn't,_ Draco mused internally, taking a thoughtful bite of a garlic knot. "Definitely. Sometimes I forget he has a pathetic little muggle family."

"Never talks about them much," Abigail Pugh, a girl a year below Draco, mused.

"Maybe they didn't worship him enough for his tastes," Flint said mildly from a little ways down the table.

Draco felt a twinge of curiosity, and lifted his gaze, peering across the Hall to Potter.

He found piercing green eyes staring right back at him, and flinched, startled by the intensity. He forced his expression into a glare and squared his shoulders.

Potter didn't seem bothered. If anything, his expression hardened.

Draco tried not to blink.

His eyes started to water.

"Draco?"

He jumped, startled and blinked on accident. Cursing Pansy internally, he turned to her.

"You zoned out," Pansy said. "Do you not like your pasta?"

Draco hummed, pulling his bag over one shoulder. "No, the spices are all wrong," he said finally. "Blaise?" he said as he got to his feet, shooting Crabbe and Goyle a glare as they started to get up too.

They sat back down.

"In a minute."

"Ancient runes is-"

"-I'm taking divination," Blaise said. "Remember?"

Draco huffed. "Why, again?"

Blaise smirked. "Easy grade. We all know I'm living off of inheritance. Good grades are all Mum asks. Doesn't matter what subject."

Draco blew out a deep breath and looked over to the half-asleep ancient runes professor.

_Potter takes divination_, he realized, eyes flitting over to the exhausted-looking, black-haired wizard. He looked decidedly sick. And the fact that Weasel and Granger hadn't sent him to the Hospital Wing yet was odd in itself.

"You know, I'll skip. Think the old bat will notice if I join in on your class today, Blaise?"

* * *

"What'd you write in your dream diary this time?" Ron asked curiously as he strode next to the sluggish werewolf, up toward the stuffy divination room.

"What? Oh. I forgot. I don't know. I'll tell her I want to do an oral report," Harry mumbled. _My real dreams lately would probably satisfy her morbid need to hear about horrible things happening to me,_ he thought darkly.

"Do you think mine are any good?"

"What are they again?"

"Getting eaten by a giant goldfish, and then becoming a ghost, and I'm stuck in the fishbowl and can't get out. Also, you were the goldfish, and you died," Ron said.

"Say that the water in the goldfish bowl turned to blood or something. Make it grosser," Harry suggested.

"Oh that's good. And my other one is I'm drowning-"

"-Oh, this is good. This may very well shape up to be my favorite class. All we do is talk about your deaths?"

Harry stopped sharply, eyes wide with shock as he forced himself to turn around, jaw dropping at the sight of the smirking blond Slytherin.

"Don't you have ancient runes, Malfoy?" Ron snapped, turning to face him with a scowl.

Draco shrugged. "Top of the class, I can afford to take a vacation. Besides, when Blaise told me how much Trelawney loves to predict Potter's elaborate, artistic death, I just couldn't say no."

Blaise offered a crooked smile.

"You're a right foul _git_ you know that?" Harry spat.

"I thought Hermione was top of every class?" Ron protested sadly.

"Not Potions, Runes, Transfiguration or anything that requires a shred of talent rather than, oh, what do they tell her she has – _ambition_. Shame your precious little mudblood can't be as innately talented as you'd like-"

He cut off sharply as Ron stepped forward, wand out.

"Careful Weasel," Draco said tauntingly, raising his hands in mock-defense. "I'm sure that vomiting slugs for a week like you did last time, isn't something we want to relive."

"Let it go, Ron," Harry said tiredly from where he stood.

"_Let it go_?" Ron snarled, pressing his wand into Draco's throat.

Draco seemed unabashed, but Blaise discreetly pulled out his wand, eyes narrowed.

"Detention!"

The Gryffindors jumped at the sound of Umbridge's cloying, sharp voice. Blaise tucked his wand away, a smirk curling up the corners of his lips. Draco repressed a burst of laughter at the Weasel's shocked expression.

"And, ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley. Why, _attacking_ another student," she hissed.

Ron's wand-arm fell slack, falling away from the other boy's throat and to his side as he gaped on in shock.

"But he called-!"

"No buts," she said in a severe tone, her voice high and soft. "I am appalled, Mr. Weasley. And I will not stand for this sort of behavior."

Ron stared at her, jaw slack in shock.

"My office, this evening. I'll see you there," she said sharply.

Harry gave Ron a sympathetic look as Umbridge walked off, scribbling something sharply on her clipboard.

"Detention?" Ron asked Harry slowly, eyebrows knitted together in sadness.

Harry lifted his head, shooting Malfoy a dark look. "Come on," he barked to Ron, stomping around the Slytherins and heading up the steps. "Let's get this stupid class over with," he muttered.

* * *

"You think _what_?" Hermione asked loudly, her eyes widening.

Harry shot a quick glance around the library, eyes wide in alarm as he moved his hands in a gesture that told her to quiet down.

"What makes you think that, Harry?" she whispered now, eyes round in surprise. "How could Malfoy… _know_?"

Harry opened, then closed his mouth, biting the inside of his cheek contemplatively as he curled his hands into fists on the table, sighing.

"I don't know," he said finally, voice low. "But I just... I just get this feeling."

"You should tell Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said anxiously, lips quirking into a frown.

"Tell him what? I think that Malfoy maybe sort of knows that Aunt Petunia isn't actually sick?"

Hermione frowned. "Do you always call her that?"

Harry frowned back at her. "Yeah, why is that even important?"

Hermione shrugged slightly. "It isn't," she said lightly. "I still think you should tell Dumbledore if it's worrying you, Harry. He'd want to know."

Harry sighed impatiently, running both hands through his hair and looking over both shoulders, shaking himself.

"I guess so. I'll tell him if I find out for sure that he knows something. There's no point until then."

Hermione nodded in resignation, and peered curiously at the book he was reading.

_A Werewolf's Pack_

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, frowning curiously. She leaned forward over the aged table in the darkened area of the library, in between two sweeping shelves. "What's that about?" she asked quietly.

_Chapter Seven: Animagi_

"Ducks," Harry said stiffly, closing it and tucking it into his bag.

She glared at him, before sighing, throwing her hands up in a dismissive gesture. "Well, I think it's good that you're looking into it and trying to learn what you can," she said in a forceful, yet encouraging tone.

Harry nodded stiffly, yawning and stretching his aching back muscles.

"It's tonight," he mumbled, crossing his arms on to the table and setting his chin down on top, sighing and blowing some dust into the air.

"I know," she said gently. "I wish there was something we could do. Oh! I got you this," she said suddenly, reaching into her bag. She pushed over a chocolate frog, smiling.

He smiled at it and the peered up at her, green eyes bright with warmth. "Thanks, Hermione," he said cheerfully, noticing for the first time how hungry he was.

"Is it dinner time yet?" he asked.

She pulled out her wand, casting a Tempus charm, he watched the golden numbers light up in the air, the dust around them sparkling.

"Would you like to head down? It technically starts in a few minutes, but I don't think most of the students will be there for another twenty minutes or so," she answered.

He nodded, getting to his feet. "Yeah."

* * *

"That class was torture," Draco snapped, striding toward the Great Hall.

"Mm," Blaise mused in response, suppressing a yawn. "I didn't say it would be fun."

"The stench was horrid. Do you think Potter actually vomited when he went to the bathroom?"

Blaise shrugged both shoulders, expression impassive. "Not sure. Maybe he's sick," he suggested as he pushed open the door to the Hall.

"He does look unwell, doesn't he?" Draco mused, gaze flicking over to said-Gryffindor as he entered after his friend.

"Or maybe he's just really worried about his aunt. I heard she's seriously ill. He's leaving tomorrow morning to see her."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Tomorrow?" he asked sharply.

Blaise nodded.

_Full moon tonight,_ Draco mused silently. Astronomy class wasn't so useless, after all.

He watched the Gryffindor as he walked past the table, taking in his expression.

Bloodshot eyes, purple bags under his eyes, sluggish movements, pale coloration. His appetite seemed gone as he poked at his food, his shoulders hunched. He would occasionally move, stretching as if he were sore.

And his eyes, and now that Draco really looked his damn _hair_. Those startling shades of green and black.

"Hell," he mumbled, eyebrows raising slightly as his mind flitted to the playful werewolf.

_How long?_ Draco wondered silently as he sank into his seat. Potter had taken Astronomy last year, he'd seen him on the full moon classes, so it had to have been-

_Fenrir._

Draco's eyes widened, his mind flicking back to that night at the manor.

He had to know - for certain - that it wasn't a coincidence.

"Something's on your mind," Blaise said in a casual tone as he started his dinner, scooping up some beef stew.

"Mm," Draco murmured, eyes narrowed at the black-haired wizard across the Hall. "Yeah," he said finally, and began making his own plate.

Blaise didn't push it.

* * *

"I'm so sorry to hear about your aunt," one of the Parvarti twins chirped, pecking Harry lightly on the cheek to his shock. He'd thought she hated him after that incident at the Yule Ball.

"Yes, it's really horrible," the other one said softly, brown eyes round in genuine horror as she sank into the seat next to him. She reached up a hand, patting his shoulder consolingly.

He lurched forward, a snarl ripping from his lips. He shoved himself upright, eyes wide with panic as he moved away from her, mind spinning uncontrollably as the wolf frothed in rage.

The scar marring his shoulder stung, memories flashing through his mind.

The twins stared up at him in unified shock, and Hermione got to her feet hesitantly. "Harry? I'm sorry, he's just – he was very close to his aunt, you know," she whispered to the twins.

They blinked slowly as Harry's posture slowly relaxed, and he gave his head a small shake.

"Of course, I'm really close to my aunt too Harry. I'm sorry, we shouldn't have brought it up," the one who had touched his shoulder said quickly, biting her lip.

He shook his head, holding up a hand. "No – I – it's okay," he said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat. "It's just – uh, difficult, and I'm tired," he said.

He forced a smile at the worried occupants of the table, and began to walk away stiffly, leaving his plate untouched. "Good night, Hermione," he said, struggling to keep his voice from shaking.

She got to her feet, then looked between the table and him anxiously, seeming unsure of what to do.

He waved his hand dismissively, heading out of the Great Hall, his entire body shaking. The door slammed behind him, forcing a ringing into his ears.

It wasn't supposed to happen this early. The sun hadn't even set. He gasped as a sudden pain shot through his scar and reached up, freezing in his walk, clutching his forehead as it seared angrily.

_Full moon tonight, angry, connection-_

His vision swam before him.

_Standing in a large, grand dining room._

_Nagini was circling around his feet, climbing up his leg. He was angry, so angry. Corpses laid around the room, his wand was clutched in his hands-_

"-Potter?"

Draco's voice rang in his ears and as he took a breath in, the sweet scent of mints assaulted him. He cracked open his eyes, his posture relaxing and his jaw dropping slightly.

"Hello," he said without thinking.

Draco blinked in rapid succession, stopping as he had been about to walk past the other.

"You're alone?" Harry blurted, looking around him curiously as if expecting to find Crabbe or Goyle hiding under a rock.

"Does it matter to you?" Draco quipped, frowning. Harry dropped his hand from his scar when he realized it was still stuck there, and offered a sheepish smile. He then seemed to remember who he was talking to, and the smile turned to a frown.

"What did you want?" he asked suspiciously, leaning back against the wall for support.

"You looked like you were going to pass out, I asked if you wanted to see Madam Pompfrey," he said slowly. Then he rolled his eyes, hitching his bag over his shoulder.

"Why are you being nice to me?" Harry snapped, scowling.

Draco fixed him with a blank, condescending look. Harry's cheeks flushed but he continued to glare defiantly.

Draco started to walk off.

"Wait!" Harry cried as the soothing effect of his presence began to fade, the wolf panicking slightly.

The Slytherin stopped, turning to face him in a slow, impatient manner.

"You – uh – I hate you," Harry said helpfully, glaring.

The blond rolled his grey eyes and continued on down the corridor without another word.

Harry sagged into the wall heavily, groaning and massaging his temples.

_I hate him,_ he reminded himself, struggling to put his weight back on his feet as he stumbled toward the Hospital Wing.

* * *

Harry rubbed unthinkingly at his scar, heaving a sigh as he looked around the Newly Refurbished Shrieking Shack.

It really did deserve the name. It was pretty on the inside now, decorated in bright Gryffindor colors with a roaring fireplace.

"I'll be back for you in the morning, then," Madam Pompfrey said. "Just try to sleep through it all," she advised.

Harry nodded. "I wish Sirius could visit," he said, glancing around. The walls were a deep, striking burgundy. There was a venting system letting fresh air filter into the room near the top of a one-way-window. A large leather couch sat by a large, brick fireplace, and in the upstairs there was a simple bedroom that he could use if he wanted.

"I know dear," she said gently. She reached into her pocket, and tucked a chocolate bar into his hand. He smiled to express his gratitude.

"See you in the morning," he said, flopping down on to his leather couch in exhaustion, slowly unwrapping the chocolate.

Poppy waved as she walked out the door, shutting it behind her and beginning to cast protective spells on her way out.

Harry popped a piece of the chocolate into his mouth, and peered out the window to where it overlooked Hogsmeade.

He swallowed harshly, willing the anxiety away. Fireflies began to light up the outside, and a soft smile warmed his insides as he watched them.

The moon lifted slowly, staring down at him.

* * *

_I'm dead,_ Harry thought miserably.

Every bone in his body had _shattered_. Forget cracking, they broke into a million fragments and rebuilt. His muscles tore themselves apart, his organs twisted into knots and remade themselves.

He'd tried to stay quiet for as long as he could but eventually, when the memories of the attack reform and the burning in his veins twisted his mind, he'd given in and screamed, the screams slowly morphing to howls when the transformation reached his vocal chords.

It was a thousand times worse than the first transformation, and for several moments, he couldn't find it in himself to move.

He heaved several whimpers, green eyes pinched closed as he tremored.

His wolf snarled in his mind angrily, this time pushing for control. Harry made a conscious effort to push it back, and struggled to his paws.

Harry turned his nose to the air, and looked around the dark room. He gave a whine as he yawned, stretching his front legs forward and stretching out his tense muscles.

He tossed his head, his black fur shaking as he did.

His wolf immediately began to search for its pack members, and he walked woodenly toward the steps, forcing himself up each one in large, bounding strides.

He saw a mirror at the far edge of his bedroom, and his eyes widened minutely.

_That's... me?_

He bounded toward the floor-to-ceiling mirror, and tilted his head slowly, watching the giant black wolf in the reflection do so as well.

He was _huge_. He wasn't quite as tall as himself in human form, but undoubtedly more muscular. He made a snarling face at the mirror, and watched his lips curl back to reveal pointed, knife-like teeth.

He scrambled back, startled by his own appearance, pinning his ears flat to his skull.

His tail tucked in and his fur bristled, making him appear even larger.

He forced himself to relax, and watched his puffed up fur fall again.

He sat back on his haunches, wondering idly if the mirror had been put there specifically for entertainment purposes. Musing over this, he slowly tilted his head back and let out a low, melodic howl.

Watching a wolf howl – even if you were said-wolf – was undoubtedly magical. In a muggle sense of the word. He gave himself a wolfish grin in the mirror and felt his inner-wolf stir curiously at the reflection.

He instinctively lowered the front half of his body, wagging his tail playfully at his own reflection.

He barked threateningly, pinning his ears.

The reflection pinned its ears back.

He growled.

It growled back.

He pulled himself upright, shaking his body and pushing the wolf's impulses aside despite its internal whimperings.

He hopped up on to the large bed that dominated the room, and peered out of the one-way-mirror.

This one showed the grounds of Hogwarts, and he felt a pang of loneliness as he looked at the glowing castle in the distance.

He let his head fall back, and let out a slow, building howl.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

* * *

**A/N:** _Onwards..._

* * *

"Good morning, Harry," Madam Pompfrey said in surprise as Harry walked into the empty Hospital Wing the next morning, looking tired. "Sleep well?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Didn't get to sleep," he admitted, heaving a sigh and rubbing at his eyes.

She walked toward him and waved her wand rather quickly, glancing him up and down and humming thoughtfully.

"Everything seems to be in order," she said warmly, patting him on the arm. "I didn't expect you to be up so early," she admitted.

Harry nodded slowly before letting his eyes drift closed and yawning. "I still don't feel very well. Going to go sleep in, or something. Glad it's Sunday."

She nodded. "How are the scars healing?"

He smiled. "You can't tell they're new at all," he said warmly. "Oh, Madam Pompfrey," he said suddenly. "Last night's transformation was more... difficult, than the last one. Is that normal?"

She frowned. "Difficult how?"

Harry shrugged. "More painful, I think. And I felt like the wolf was sort of… pushier. I don't really know how to explain it," he said slowly.

She frowned, nodding thoughtfully. "There are more difficult transformations than others," she said. "It's probably just because you were in a new area without the support of Sirius and Remus. If it keeps getting worse, we'll look into it."

He nodded. "You're probably right, thanks Madam Pompfrey," he said tiredly as he turned away, rubbing at the scar on his forehead with a yawn.

"Get some rest," she ordered as she turned back around.

He let the door shut quietly behind him and started down the corridor toward the Gryffindor common room.

* * *

"Quidditch try-outs today!" Pansy squealed, clapping her hands together as Draco approached.

He smiled, nodding to the witch as he swung into the seat across from her and stifled a yawn. "Blaise, have you seen Potter?" he asked as he glanced over to the Gryffindor table.

"No, guess he's still visiting his aunt," the boy said distractedly as he crumpled up a letter from home, tossing it toward his bag.

"Why are you so preoccupied with Potter this year?" Pansy snapped irritably.

Hannah Pugh coughed to cover up a laugh. Everyone but Pansy seemed aware that Draco's obsession with Harry was anything but a new development.

Draco turned a glare to her. "Because if Potter misses try-outs, then there's no way for him to be on the Quidditch team this year. That is somewhat important to someone of an opposing team," he said coldly.

She flushed, mumbling incoherently as she picked up a pastry from a nearby tray.

Draco glanced over to Blaise, feeling a stab of concern as he watched the wizard stare blankly at his empty plate.

"Letter from home?" he asked, looking to where the crumpled paper had missed his bag and fallen on the floor.

Blaise jumped as if startled, dark eyes widening. He bent over, picking up the discarded letter and setting it ablaze with a quiet _incendio_.

"Yeah," he said dismissively. "Dad's died."

Draco nodded and Daphne Greengrass sat upright, eyes wide in horror. "That's horrible, Blaise, I'm sorry," she said sincerely.

He laughed, shaking his head with a forced smile. "No big deal," he said cheerfully. "It's the – what is it, Draco?"

"Fifth time," he responded

Blaise nodded, forcing a broad smile.

Daphne blinked, not understanding, but Blaise didn't seem interested in enlightening her. He jumped to his feet. "Draco, would you help me with my Potions homework?" he asked sharply.

The blond nodded, gathering up his things and leaving his unfinished plate. "Sure, I have some time before the match," he answered, repressing a yawn as he started out of the Hall, Blaise at his side.

* * *

Harry hummed, licking out the insides of a chocolate truffle in boredom. He watched the light filter through the thin circle at the top of it, and covered it up with his finger a few times.

He'd occasionally get up and think about doing something, only to be reminded by the seizing pain in his limbs that life just wasn't that accommodating.

He sat upright slowly when the door of his dorm slammed open to reveal Ron, fully decked out in a Quidditch outfit.

"Oh, hey Ron," Harry said, flopping back to his bed with a sigh and reaching for another truffle.

"Oh – Harry! – hey – um, you're back!" he said, pitch high.

Harry made an agreeable noise as he tore the chocolate in half this time, watching it pull cleanly into two, even halves. He carefully removed the inside of half of the truffle before smiling, and holding up the emptied half proudly.

"Doesn't it look sort of like a chocolate helmet for mice?"

"Oh, uh, yeah! It looks great, Harry," Ron said encouragingly as he fumbled for something in his trunk.

Harry sat up again, grimacing at the twinge in his ribs. "Where are you going?" he asked, looking the redhead up and down as if just now noticing his outfit. He popped the chocolate into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

Ron's face turned an interesting color of pink and Harry frowned, tilting his head.

"I'm-I'm going to try out for Quidditch," he said in barely more than a whisper.

"What?" Harry asked, eyes flying wide.

"Quidditch, I'm going to try out for Quidditch. Katie said she needed a Keeper, and I was thinking, well you know."

"Try-outs are today?" Harry asked.

Ron gave him a red-faced look of stress before nodding stiffly.

"Oh, shoot," Harry said with a frown. "Guess I need to get ready then – hey! Ron! You're trying out!" he said suddenly, leaping to his feet. "That's fantastic!"

Ron flushed an even deeper shade of pink. "Oh Merlin," he groaned, flopping into his seat. "No, no, Harry, I should back out. Oh this will be embarrassing," he groaned.

Harry frowned as he rifled through his own things, pulling out his Quidditch attire. He walked over to the redhead and patted him on the shoulder. "You'll do brilliant, Ron, come on. Now let's go, shall we? Oh," he stopped suddenly, swaying in place and clutching his stomach.

"Are you sure you're fit for it today?" Ron asked worriedly, getting to his feet, eyebrows pressed together in concern.

"Oh, yeah, just too much chocolate," Harry lied, repressing a yawn and straightening back up with a shake of his head. "Right, well – what are we waiting for, then? We've got try-outs!"

He stomped over toward the bathroom, willing himself not to walk into the doorframe with how unbalanced he felt. His vision was dark around the edges as he slammed the door shut behind him. "Meet you down at the pitch," he called through the door.

"Okay – uh, Harry, are you _sure_ you're up for it?" Ron's voice rang uncertainly underneath the door.

"Merlin's sake _yes_ Ron, now kindly stop being a Hermione and go," Harry snapped as he supported himself against the counter of the bathroom, breathing uneven as he let his eyes drift closed.

He waited for the sound of Ron's footsteps leaving the dorm before he blew out a slow, steadying breath.

His stomach churned and his gaze flicked hesitantly over to the toilet as his body seemed to contemplate being ill, before the feeling passed. He sighed heavily, shoulders caving inward as the tension dissipated.

He used one hand to rub at his forehead as he slowly let his eyes crack open again and stood up, squaring his shoulders and peering in the mirror.

He looked pale. Purple shadows were dark under his eyes which were puffy to begin with. His lips looked dried and he thought he looked a bit thinner than usual in the face. He offered himself a weak smile.

He rolled his head back on his neck, listening to the resounding cracks and heaving a sigh at the sore twinge. He reached up a hand, squeezing the muscles on the back of his neck and letting his eyes drift closed.

_Stupid moon_, he thought grumpily.

He pointed his wand at himself in the mirror and began casting the few concealment charms he knew.

* * *

"Potter's got a glamour on," Blaise said suddenly.

Draco jumped as if startled from a trance, turning to face the other Slytherin with a frown. "What?" he asked, glancing down to said-wizard from the stands.

Blaise nodded to Harry, who was leaning heavily on his broomstick as he waited for his turn. Ginny Weasley had just finished hers - she had tried out for substitute Seeker.

Blaise pulled his gaze away from the girl as she shook her long, red hair out of her helmet and focused on the irritable looking black-haired wizard. "I can tell. Mum wears them all the time. He's covering something up. Something big, nothing like a spot or anything."

Draco frowned, leaning down and looking into the pitch. He could barely see the wizard from there, so he just shrugged his shoulders and leaned back.

"I made the team again," the grey-eyed wizard said off-handedly.

"Congratulations. Any reason you're sitting out here watching Gryffindor try-outs?"

Draco smirked, and resisted the urge to ask the other the same question. "The Weasel's trying out, I heard. Wanted a good laugh."

"Sure it isn't because you get to see Potter fly?" he asked curiously.

* * *

_Why the hell can't they find something better to do?_ Harry thought angrily, resisting the urge to shoot a glance up to where the two Slytherins sat in the stands.

"-Harry!" Katie's snarl startled him from his thoughts, forcing him to jerk upright.

"Yes?" he asked slowly, frowning at the girl's frazzled expression.

"Do you want to try out, or not? Because if not, get off the pitch," she snapped hotly, eyes flashing.

Harry took in a slow breath, ignoring the pounding in his head and nodded slowly. "Right, yeah, okay, no – I want to try out. Let's go, then," he said. He swung his leg over the edge of his broom and kicked off, nodding to the girl.

She released the snitch without preamble, glaring at him as he waited for it to fly off.

"Ten second wait?"

"Yes, yes. _Go_ now, _go_! It's been close enough!"

Harry nodded, ignoring her impatience and turning his head toward the sky, his broom shooting after a distant glitter of gold.

_Werewolf eyesight doesn't hurt,_ he mused. He let his eyes drift closed for a moment as he reached just below the cloud level, the wind ruffling his hair lightly. It wasn't fun if he could see it right away.

He drew in the scents up there heavily, and immediately pinpointed the direction of the metallic snitch. He turned his broom towards it, lying flat against it as he shot forward.

Surely enough, the golden snitch buzzed just a little below him when he finally slowed down and let his eyes flick open again. He looked down at it, feeling a grin curve up the corners of his mouth as he spiraled into a dizzying dive.

The snitch seemed startled by the descending Seeker, clearly not expecting to have been found so easily, and immediately bolted, whizzing toward the other edge of the pitch.

Harry gave chase, a laugh escaping him as he leaned back, letting the wind buffet his hair. He didn't bother asking his Firebolt for top speed, letting the snitch spin about in front of him and watching it almost lazily.

Finally he got tired of watching it flicker about, clearly trying to shake his trail - which it might have done, had he had weaker vision - and he urged his Firebolt forward, hand outstretched as he neared the glinting piece of gold.

His hands wrapped around cool metal and he gave a whoop of victory, holding it up high with a wide grin.

He looked over to the stands to his left and reeled back at the look he received from Malfoy. He furrowed his eyebrows at the blond, tilting his head to one side as he contemplated the intense expression on the other's face.

Zabini leaned close to Malfoy, saying something that Harry missed due to the wind choosing that time to smack him solidly in the side of the face, drowning out all other sounds. He felt a flash of annoyance at the sight of the two clearly-cuddly Slytherins-

"_POTTER!_"

Harry's head whipped around, glancing back down to where Katie stood, looking extremely pleased at the ground of the pitch. A smile flitted across his features and he took his broom down, landing and quietly hopping off.

Immediately, the adrenaline rush began to fade, and the nausea and dizziness made themselves known once more.

"That was amazing, Harry," Katie said warmly, pulling him into an unexpected hug. He tensed, but allowed it, blowing out a breath as one of the other team members patted him solidly on the scarred shoulder. _At least I'm getting less sensitive about that,_ he thought hopefully as his stomach churned.

"I didn't think it was possible for you to get better, but hell, you _did_."

_Bollocks, I'm going to be ill._

He offered her a smile, nodding. "Thanks Katie, good luck!" he said warmly as he patted the girl on the shoulder and began to walk back toward the castle, his vision darkening around the edges.

_Don't be sick until you get inside, don't be sick until you get inside,_ he willed his stomach, and hoped no one noticed the way his legs trembled discreetly beneath him.

He didn't notice the look of disappointment and anxiety from Ron as he shut the castle door behind himself, and the Keeper try-outs began.

* * *

"It's the Weasel's turn," Blaise said casually to Draco, who was on his feet, eyes narrowed at the castle door.

"Did you just see Potter take his broom inside, instead of putting it away in the Quidditch rooms?"

"Nope," Blaise said casually, repressing a yawn as he leaned back in his seat, eyelids drooping.

"Seemed a bit unwell, didn't he?" Draco mused, eyes narrowed.

"Maybe he stayed up all night with his aunt?" Blaise suggested. "Heard Weasley saying something to that effect to the Parvarti twins earlier."

Draco nodded slowly, a contemplative look across his features as he turned to Blaise.

"Maybe. I'll be back," he said distractedly as he started down the steps of the stands.

Blaise waved lazily at his back, rolling his eyes.

* * *

Harry slid down the side of the wall, legs seeming to buckle with relief as he finally gave up on forcing them to carry his weight. He tugged off the Quidditch vest and long-sleeved shirt that covered his normal t-shirt, the heat stifling. He tore off his glasses while he was at it, throwing them across the corridor with a snarl of rage.

He let his broom clatter to the ground beside him, and clutched his head with both hands, his back muscles seizing in pain as his scar burned.

_-Kill him. He'd kill Fenrir with his own hands if it needed to be done._

_He was in a darkened room, empty portraits lining every wall. It was a bedroom – his room, temporarily._

_The Prophecy was pointless now – no, but there were more pressing matters._

_If Potter-_

"Potter?"

A sensation a bit like being tugged by a portkey overwhelmed Harry's senses for a moment, and slowly, he began to recognize his surroundings again.

He was sitting on the floor of a corridor by the entrance to the Quidditch pitch, and crouched beside him was a person.

Grey eyes were wide with concern – _grey eyes?_

Also, _concern_?

"Malfoy," Harry spat, shocked at the weakness of his own voice. He conjured the angriest look he could, directing it straight at the Slytherin.

The concern in the blond's eyes didn't leave, but his worried expression dissipated into a sneer. It was then Harry realized he had a hand on his shoulder, and he shrugged it off, trying to stand up.

"Decided to take a nap on the floor?" Malfoy asked casually.

"I – yes," Harry said defiantly, jutting out his chin and taking in slow, shallow breaths as he sank back to the ground, hoping the other wizard didn't notice he had actually tried to stand. The dizziness and nausea were gone, but they threatened him as he tried to put weight on his feet again.

"You must be tired," the Slytherin said slowly. "After last night."

Harry felt his blood seem to chill in his very veins. He swallowed hard. "I – I – what do you mean?" he asked dangerously.

Malfoy arched both eyebrows. "Just, staying with your aunt, it must have been very difficult for you," he said in a soft tone of voice.

Harry didn't feel any relief as he registered the blond's tone. "It was," Harry agreed stiffly, green eyes flickering with anger.

Malfoy pulled himself out of the crouch and Harry leaned heavily on the wall as he scrambled to his feet himself. He felt his vision fizzle around the edges and he swayed.

Malfoy stepped forward, extending a hand for support as Harry began to tip forward, and the black-haired wizard used the other's arm to steady himself, leaning into his side.

Both wizards seemed to realize what they'd done at once, and Harry stepped away from the blond at the same time that Draco retracted his arm.

"Why are you following me?" Harry spat as he leaned back against the stone wall for support, resisting the urge to let his knees buckle again as his vision swam.

Draco's gaze flickered to the edge of a scar near Harry's shoulder, eyes widening minutely as he stopped, mouth agape as if he had been about to respond.

Harry followed his gaze and immediately his stomach clenched. He used one hand to fumble and jerk the edge of his shirt back over his scarred shoulder, wishing he hadn't taken his vest off.

_Stupid stretched-out shirts,_ he thought miserably, gaze dropping to the ground as he waited for the accusations.

"Is that really what you wear under your robes all the time?"

Harry's head popped up, jaw dropping slightly as he stared at the Slytherin, whose face was curled into a mixture of pity and disappointment.

"Yes," Harry snapped, huffing and crossing his arms, pulling some of his weight hesitantly off of the wall as he straightened his back. _He really didn't see it?_

"Do the muggles you live with hate you, or are they just poor?" he asked dryly.

Harry felt a swell of anger in his chest and curled his hands into fists. "_None of your business_. Also – _stop_ following me. And I mean it," he said severely.

"You don't seem that bothered by it," Draco said casually, crossing his arms over his chest. "Not really, anyway. What changed?"

Harry closed his eyes, breathing out of his nostrils sharply. "You don't seem to speak basic English, Malfoy, so I'll say it very slowly – _Leave. Me. Alone._"

"Am I bothering you?" he asked, a frown turning down the corners of his lips.

"_Yes._"

"By doing what?"

"Existing," Harry snarled, bending over and snatching up his Firebolt with a burning look of hatred that Draco only raised his eyebrows at. A small smile encompassed the Slytherin's features – he looked much better with a smile, less pointy – his grey eyes were strangely soft in that lighting-

-_and stupid, and annoying, and git-ish._

"Would you like some help getting to the Hospital Wing?" Draco asked.

"No," Harry said, turning away from the other unsteadily and beginning down the corridor, ignoring the pulsing irritation of his wolf in his head as he left the pack.

_He's not a friend, not him, and get used to it,_ he snarled angrily into his mind to the pushy, obnoxious energy that was the wolf.

_And that's all you are. Energy, a magical condition, a disease. You're not the wolf, a wolf, or a sentient being at all, and your _feelings_ don't matter to me,_ he thought, eyes pinching closed in rage as he stumbled up the steps toward the Fat Lady's portrait, snarling out the password.

He threw open the door to the common room.

Seamus Finnigan jerked up his head, eyes wide with alarm at the sight of the werewolf. "Harry?" he asked uncertainly.

Harry turned away mechanically, and started up the steps, Firebolt in hand.

He slammed the door of his dorm behind him.

* * *

_His aunt isn't sick._

He tucked Potter's discarded glasses that he had been playing with into his robe pockets as he spotted the person he'd been looking for. They didn't have a prescription, from what Draco could tell.

"Blaise, have you seen Crabbe and Goyle?" Draco asked sharply as he approached the tired-looking Slytherin.

"Hm? Oh, they're standing outside some bathroom, saying you went in there and never came out and they're waiting for you," Blaise said, eyes drifting to the pocket where Draco had put the Gryffindor's iconic glasses.

"Good," Draco said, nodding. "There was something I-"

He stopped himself suddenly, jaw snapping closed as he took a few slow breaths.

Blaise arched an eyebrow at him. "If it's something you don't feel comfortable talking to me about, then don't," he suggested casually.

Draco scowled, glancing to the stone wall beside him.

_Potter's a werewolf. Why do I care if Blaise knows? He should know. Keeping someone that dangerous in the school, we should _all _know about it._

He opened his mouth, then let it snap closed again. He shook his head sharply, giving a quick, stiff exhale.

"Is it about Potter?"

Draco's grey eyes widened minutely as if he couldn't fathom how Blaise could have deduced that. Slowly, he nodded.

Blaise smiled. "I mean, it was about time you figured it out," he said encouragingly.

"What?" Draco asked, leaning back with a puzzled expression. "You mean you knew?"

"Everyone knew, hell, even Pansy knew – she was just in denial," Blaise said. "You know, we're okay with it," he added in a quieter tone.

"You _are_?" Draco asked incredulously, eyes flying wide.

"Well, maybe not completely, but I mean it's not really any of our business is it? I'm okay with it, anyway."

"Uh – yeah – I mean, I suppose so," Draco said slowly, trying not to stare at his friend as if he'd grown a second head. "So – who all knows?"

Blaise paused, tilting his head. "Probably everyone, except Crabbe maybe. I think Goyle's even got a hint. Hannah sure knows. Astoria seemed a bit hopefully oblivious, like Pansy, but you know how they are. Daphne-"

"How did all of you _know_?"

"No offense, but it was kind of obvious," Blaise said with a shrug, leaning back against the wall. "But, I mean, we're seriously happy for you."

Draco felt a twinge of irritation. The patronization because he was apparently the last person to figure out Potter was a werewolf was _not_ needed.

"So – did it just happen? I mean is that where you were?" Blaise asked curiously. "I kind of figured it might take Potter even longer to figure it out than it did you, but I mean, apparently you both had some sort of epiphany moment, yeah? Not that it's any of my business – I mean, but, hey, good for you."

"What in Salazar's name are you talking about?" Draco asked slowly as it dawned on him that there was no way Blaise was talking about lycanthropy.

Blaise frowned now, head tilting to the side. "You are dating, aren't you?"

* * *

_Stupid, stupid, stupid git. Needs some Ginny-perfume, that's what he needs. Then he'd reek and I could hex him and life would be-_

The door to the common room gently opened, two familiar scents twirling into the air as Ron and Hermione entered with nearly identical looks of glee.

"Where were _you _two?" Harry snarled irritably as he slammed a book he had been trying to read closed.

Ron's elated expression immediately fell into one of rage, Hermione gave him a disapproving look.

"Where was _I?_" Ron snarled.

"Yeah!" Harry said, confused as to why he was getting such an angry response but going with it as he got to his feet.

"On the stupid pitch where you left me, you git!" Ron shouted, throwing his hands up into the air. "Way to be there for me, real _best mate_ Harry," he snarled. "Give everyone the show of a lifetime on that stupid broom then walk off and leave me to the _wolves_. Katie was a menace when you left."

Harry's anger deflated like a balloon as his shoulders fell forward and he sank back into his chair, planting his face into his palms.

"Your try out," Harry mumbled miserably. "Ron – I completely forgot, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well," Ron snapped. "I got the place. Fantastic. Thanks Harry, couldn't have done it without you, really. Night – 'Mione."

There was the sound of retreating footsteps, and the door of the dorm slammed closed. Harry winced at the noise.

"Hermione, I-"

Harry lifted his head to see her giving him a disapproving look still, and sighed as she sank into the seat opposite to him.

"Go on."

"Don't have anything to say, really. Is he awfully upset?" he asked quietly.

Hermione hesitated, blowing out a slow breath before giving a reluctant nod. "Not terribly so – I mean he did get the spot, so he's ecstatic really. And we both know that yesterday wasn't – well, wasn't a very good day for you. So I think he just needs some time to calm down." She frowned suddenly, leaning forward and narrowing her eyes as she glanced over his face.

"I was just trying not to puke on Katie's shoes," Harry said sincerely, lifting his head from his hands. "I'm not sure how I forgot."

"Where are your glasses?" she blurted suddenly, head tilted.

Harry reached up slowly, feeling the bridge of his nose before cursing, shaking his head as he realized Malfoy would have noticed they were gone too. "I - I lost them. I'll have to find them tomorrow," he muttered. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts of a certain blond Slytherin. "How did the try-out go then?"

A flush blossomed in Hermione's cheeks as she glanced up toward the ceiling, and Harry felt a twinge of suspicion.

"Well, there was another person trying out for Keeper. McLaggen."

"Never met him," Harry murmured.

"You'd hate him," she supplied helpfully, eyes flicking open. "Can't work in a team setting at all. Thinks he can play each role better than everyone else. Loud, arrogant – awful sort."

Harry nodded slowly, his mind beginning to piece things together. "But he was a good enough Keeper, I'd reckon?"

Hermione nodded. "I was – a bit worried, you know, just a bit. And he was being a prat about it, so I thought it couldn't _hurt_ you know if maybe one of the Quaffles just sort of, you know, slipped past him?" she offered shyly.

Harry tossed back his head and let out a barking laugh. "Hermione, you're the best," he said warmly, feeling a surge of affection for his friends, quickly followed by a stab of guilt that he hadn't been there.

Hermione's heart rate picked up and Harry turned his gaze back to her, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

She cleared her throat, shifting her gaze away from his curious stare. "Well I ah, I'm going to go to bed now," she said in an odd tone, fumbling to her feet and offering him an awkward smile. "Good night, Harry."

He frowned at her still, but slowly raised one hand in a slight wave, nodding. "Night, Hermione," he replied.

She pressed her lips between her teeth and turned toward the steps, walking up them quietly, her pulse still quickened.

_Wonder what's wrong with her,_ Harry mused silently, leaning back heavily into his chair and heaving a sigh.

He let his aching eyes drift closed, a soft smile and stupid grey eyes flickering behind his eyelids as he slowly sunk into sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

******CHAPTER TEN**

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**A/N**: _100 reviews? Well you guys are awesome. Onwards..._

* * *

Draco stretched his dress-pant clad legs out in front of him, staring into the licking fire in the dimly-lit Slytherin common room. He took a slow sip of the firewhiskey in his hand, ignoring the burn trailing down his throat.

His grey eyes reflected the hungry flames as they danced in place and a smirk curled up the corner of the right side of his mouth. He let out a snort of laughter, gaze glassy and unmoving.

_Harry Potter._

Gryffindor. Stupid, rash. He was too forward, too willfully oblivious.

It would never work.

He was Draco Malfoy. He could have anyone he wanted. He had money, power, influence, looks, intelligence, blood-purity, talent. He wasn't oblivious - witches positively fawned over him.

He smirked fully now, scoffing as he shook his head and pulled his gaze away from the flames.

He could have anyone, within _reason_.

_I'm being stupid. This isn't affection - or attraction. I hate Potter, he hates me. I'm just confused_, he told himself forcefully, glancing tiredly over to Blaise, who had fallen asleep after finishing his own glass.

He blew out a slow breath, trying to force the image of bright green eyes from the forefront of his mind. It might have been easier if everything in the room, down to the flames of the candles on the walls, weren't green.

_Maybe if I didn't stay up until four in the morning I wouldn't have stupid problems like being attracted to Harry Potter. Merlin's sake, this is ridiculous._

He downed the last of the contents of his cup before setting down the glass sharply, silently vowing not to drink with Blaise ever again, no matter how pathetically pleading he was.

Draco grimaced as he stretched his back against the back of the leather couch. He never had been good at the whole comforting friend thing.

Blaise stirred suddenly, lifting his head from where it had fallen on to his shoulder in his sleep. "Draco?" he croaked tiredly, his voice traveling through the quiet space separating their seats.

Draco lifted a hand, waving slightly.

Blaise observed him for a long moment before letting his head fall back, eyes slipping closed. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Draco frowned. "For?"

Blaise didn't open his eyes as he gestured in front of himself. "The drinking, my whinging, for bringing up Potter-"

"-It's fine, Blaise," Draco interrupted as he leaned his head back against the sofa, eyelids heavy as he banished his confused emotions with practiced ease.

"'S not," the other wizard muttered, words slurring slightly. He sat up, seeming to give himself a mental shake. "Can tell it's all getting to you. See it in your face," he said in a more sober voice. "You should let us be there for you. We're your friends. You don't need to shut us out. Whatever's happening, we're here for you, Draco. You put up with my shit. If you help me, I should help you - I don't like owing debts."

Draco smirked and let out a humorless laugh. "Spare me your drunken ramblings. Then we'll be even."

Blaise laughed slightly, looking around the darkened room blearily before smiling and pouncing on a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey. He forewent a cup, instead tipping the contents carelessly back into his mouth. "I'm not drunk," he argued, tossing the bottle aside after he'd emptied it.

He threw himself on to the couch next to the blond and Draco grimaced, scooting away from the intoxicated wizard. He watched the discarded bottle roll into a nearby stone wall and shot his friend an arched look.

"Does it hurt much?" Blaise asked him seriously, eyebrows furrowing.

Draco frowned at him. "What?"

The drunken wizard waved a hand in an explanatory fashion. "Potter. Thinking that it'll never work. Does it hurt? Can't read you. Can't tell." He leaned close to the blond, eyes narrowed as he scanned his face.

Draco's expression closed off as he moved further away from the other. "No. I don't like Potter. I hate him," he spat.

Blaise stared at him for a long moment. A snort of laughter escaped him finally as he leaned back, expression pitying. "You actually believe that?"

Draco flexed his jaw, clenching his hands into fists as his pulse sped. "Not everyone thinks it's a romantic notion to pine after someone uninterested. I don't like Potter, I never have, and I never will. And even if I did, it wouldn't matter, because he's Harry Potter, and I'm me," Draco explained, gesturing to himself as he finished his slight tangent.

Blaise sat back, licking his dry lips contemplatively, expression calculating. "So you're afraid of not getting what you want, is that it?" he asked quietly, sounding suspiciously less drunk. "You'd rather be confident in getting something you don't care for, than shoot for something that isn't as likely?"

"I'm being realistic," Draco said coldly. "This conversation is over."

Blaise hummed and sprawled himself into a laying position against the couch, throwing his feet into the blond's lap. "I don't think it's that unlikely, you know. I've seen how he looks at you. When you aren't watching."

Draco stood, shoving the other's shoes out of his lap. "Good night, Blaise," he said coolly, turning toward the stairs.

"Night, Draco."

* * *

_Rhythmic footfalls in a forest._

_A tawny rabbit sprung from hiding and darted for cover, startling a sparrow through the thick tree foliage above and into the sky._

_Harry took in a slow breath, looking around himself in wonder. The sound of the four-beat footfalls grew closer._

_He drew in a breath, the sweet edge of mint stirring warmth in his mind._

_He lifted his nose, which he now realized was decidedly canine, to the sky. He howled quietly, warmth building inside his chest._

_The footfalls changed direction, moving toward him. He pricked his ears, not knowing what he was excited for, but feeling it all the same._

_The white wolf sprung forth from the green undergrowth, his dazzling fur reflecting off the few rays of sun that cut through the tree coverage. He looked and smelled like winter, in the middle of the humid forest._

_Harry bounded forward, touching his nose to the wolf's and glancing into his light grey eyes._

_Everything around him blurred. Standing now on two human legs, he found himself staring into the same two grey eyes. He was pressed against someone's chest, and it was the only bit of warmth all around._

_It was cold, and dark. He could only just make out the features of the person he was up against._

_Draco._

_Relief flooded him. He buried his nose into the other's neck, drawing in his comforting scent._

_The blond returned the embrace, and he felt something rest against his hair. He felt a surge of affection and leaned back, staring up at the other wizard. His gaze slowly drifted to his lips, and he felt his mouth go dry._

_A smirk turned up the corners of Draco's mouth. His eyes danced with humor as he inclined his head, and Harry felt his pulse quicken as his eyes drifted closed and he made to close the gap between them-_

_-Draco grabbed his wrist, yanking him away from something from behind. His expression was morphed with fear when Harry opened his eyes again, frowning in confusion._

_They were in a winding corridor, orbs lining every wall, dates beneath them._

_A giant snake was slithering toward the two of them when Harry spun around to face the apparent attacker. She bared her fangs, and lunged forward._

_To her right, an orb rolled off of an unknown shelf, shattering on impact._

_Harry dragged Draco back with him, shielding him with his body. The snake's fangs sunk into his ribs._

_He was burning again. In his shoulder, in his chest, all around him a forest was burning._

_Nagini was still hovering over from where he laid knocked down. Draco was gone. The darkness from her eyes flooded his mind._

* * *

"Harry!"

Harry gasped, sitting upright, his heart beating madly in his chest. "Dr- Ron!" he exclaimed breathlessly.

It was late. Ron stood next to his bed, eyebrows furrowed in tired concern, his red hair sticking up awkwardly. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

Harry swallowed hard. He nodded. "Just a bad dream. Thanks, Ron," he muttered as he fell back against his pillow, massaging his face with one hand.

Ron hovered for a moment before nodding, and trailing back over to his bed without a word. Harry waited until the redhead had climbed back into bed, his heartrate slowing to a sleeping pace, before he got to his feet and shoved open the window, staring out on to the grounds by the Black Lake. A cool breeze blew in the open window, raising goosebumps along his arms.

His dream replayed in his mind, and he felt warmth spread up his neck and shock grip his stomach as he realized the direction the dream had been taking before the nightmare began.

He leaned his elbows against the windowsill and buried his face in both hands. It was the third dream like that in a single week, and Harry was becoming increasingly certain it was a side-affect of the approaching moon.

_Dreaming about Draco Malfoy, gee Harry, not sure what Rita Skeeter wants to hear more. You're a werewolf, or you're bent for Malfoy? Both at once would probably be best. Should send her an owl._

"Damn it," Harry snarled, running his hands through his black locks and giving them a tug. He shook his head, turning around and releasing his hold on his hair as he leaned back against the open window. The wind blew from outside, brushing against the nape of his neck and sending an involuntary shiver down his spine.

He stared blankly into the dark room before him, drumming the fingers on one hand restlessly for a long moment.

His shoulders sagged forward suddenly, and his form shook with a brief, silent laugh.

* * *

Draco repressed a yawn as he trailed into his first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the year. It had been delayed for some reason - an issue with the curriculum, Draco had heard.

He scanned the room and resisted the urge to vomit at the sheer amount of pink.

He slid into a seat next to some Slytherin he hadn't bothered learning the name of, and Goyle quickly dragged them out of the seat, settling in next to the Malfoy heir.

"Where's Crabbe?" he asked quietly, resisting the urge to scan the room for Potter.

_Blaise was wrong_, he reminded himself forcefully. He hadn't antagonized or looked at Potter in two weeks. Because he _wasn't_ obsessed, and if he needed to prove that, he could.

"He's sick," Goyle said simply.

Draco gave a non-commital noise of response and crossed his arms over the table, resting his chin over them and letting his eyes drift closed for a moment.

* * *

"Do you think Malfoy's ill?" Harry asked curiously as he stared at the back of the blond's head, focusing aggressively on his scent in an attempt to block out the noxious perfume scent permeating the room.

_He hasn't been a git the past week. He looks nicer when he scowls less. I suppose he's always been good-looking, hasn't he? I mean all the witches like him, don't they?_

He clenched his jaw as he thought of Pansy Parkinson.

"Um, maybe," Hermione said unsurely.

_His scent's a bit off,_ Harry noted suddenly, straightening in his seat. _Is that my - ?_

Harry frowned, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he drew in his own scent that was trailing off of Malfoy.

_Oh_. His eyes lit with understanding. _My glasses._

He narrowed his eyes, feeling a surge of irritation. Typical of Malfoy to take something that didn't belong to him. He got to his feet, flexing his jaw as he glared over at the Slytherin.

"Hem-_hem_."

Harry paused, turning to look to where the sound had come from and wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant sight of Dolores Umbridge.

"Take your seats please," she said in a sickly sweet voice. Harry narrowed his eyes and felt his wolf snarl at the order. He stayed on his feet, posture stiff with defiance.

She narrowed her eyes.

Harry curled his hands into fists, his green eyes darkening as his wolf surged toward the surface. A growl built in his chest as Hermione grabbed him by the wrist and he jumped, looking down to her in surprise.

_Sit down_, he told himself forcibly as his friend gave him a serious look.

His knees bent like someone fighting the Imperius curse as he fell down into his seat.

Umbridge's expression morphed into one of pure hatred for less than half a second, and Harry didn't think he would have seen it without his improved vision. He widened his eyes slightly, hand drifting toward his wand as rage curled inside of him.

_I hate her._

"Calm down," Hermione whispered urgently, releasing her hold on his wrist. He looked over to her angrily.

Couldn't they see the cruelty in her gaze? She was a threat, a danger, she had to be eliminated-

Harry cut off the animalistic train of thought as well as he could, shoving his wolf back down and letting his shoulders cave forward.

"Wands away," Umbridge chirped from the front of the class.

* * *

"What were you thinking?" Hermione hissed angrily as the Gryffindor trio exited the classroom an hour later. "Harry, you _can't_ get detention. You're going to have to talk to Dumbledore."

"Why can't Harry get detention?" Ron interjected irritably.

Hermione looked over to the redhead in surprise and Harry offered him a glare as he started down a short flight of steps. "Gee, thanks Ron."

"You know why," Hermione said in a sharp whisper as she followed after him, curls bouncing as she followed down the steps.

"Why not, Granger?"

Harry looked up in surprise at the voice, finding himself face to face with increasingly familiar grey eyes as he did so.

"Not a convenient time?" Draco asked sneeringly. "Potter too good for detention?"

Harry blinked. He looked to Hermione, uncomprehending. _Why_ couldn't he go to detention? He went all the time. It didn't get in the way of Quidditch, the detention was scheduled for next week at-

-The full moon.

Harry repressed a groan and reached up both hands to scrub his face. He would have to visit Snape to get the first dosage of his potion and Ron would probably have to fill in his detention for him with polyjuice if he couldn't get it moved.

But no, Ron had detention too.

_Damn it all_. Harry groaned angrily.

"Don't you have anything better to do, Malfoy?" Hermione asked sharply, startling Harry from his thoughts.

"Come on," Harry said bluntly, startling his friends and the Slytherin. "Forget him," Harry muttered, brushing past the wizard and rubbing subconsciously at his scar.

Draco watched the Gryffindors leave with a look of surprise that only rivaled Hermione's.

* * *

"That was very...mature of you Harry," Hermione said finally, her expression still clearly alarmed as the two made their way up the switching staircases.

The three paused, bracing heavily against the railing as the staircase swung them off-course. "Thanks?" Harry responded questioningly, shrugging a shoulder as he headed up the stairs as they stilled again.

Ron rolled his eyes at Hermione's expression and stomped off ahead of the two. Harry watched him go with furrowed eyebrows. "What happened to him?" he asked, glancing back at the bushy-haired girl with a frown.

She shook her head. "I've no idea. He hasn't told me anything," she said. Harry frowned after his friend.

"You know Harry, I think you look quite nice without your glasses," she tacked on after a beat of silence.

Harry reached up a hand to brush the bridge of his nose. "Oh, thanks," he said unsurely. "Malfoy has them," he added as he remembered it.

"What?" Hermione asked in surprise, stopping in her walk toward the Gryffindor tower and giving Harry a wide-eyed, questioning look. "How did he get them?"

Harry sighed and kept walking. The witch quickly followed after him, look still inquisitive. "I dunno. I dropped them, and Malfoy was around."

"Why didn't you pick them up?"

"I was distracted," Harry said hotly. "Why does it matter? I'm tired Hermione," he said stiffly, pausing as he remembered he needed his potion. He turned toward the staircases.

"Okay," Hermione said hesitantly, frowning as he started down the stairs. She opened then closed her mouth, watching him go unsurely.

* * *

"What are you doing?" Draco asked curiously as he strolled into the Potions classroom, peering into a nearby cauldron as he approached the desk at the front of the room.

Snape tucked a vial of a dark-colored potion into his robe and vanished the contents of the cauldron, but not before Draco got a whiff of the potion.

Wolfsbane. Its stench was undeniably unique.

Draco looked up to his godfather with arched eyebrows.

"It's after hours, Draco," Snape countered as he began to clean up his desk, floating things into their places absent-mindedly as he glanced over a scroll of parchment.

"Makes sense why you're bottling Wolfsbane then. Is it true it can only be handled at night?"

The Potions Master pinned him with a slow, unreadable look and Draco offered him a forced smile as he hopped into a stool across from the man.

"It is safest. However, it is not impossible to brew and bottle it in the evening as long as it is kept in a shaded area."

"Interesting," Draco said cheerfully, burying his burning curiosity as he met the man's critical gaze.

Severus opened his mouth to say something as the door to the dungeon classroom was flung open once more.

"Professor Snape, I'm here-" Harry's words died on his lips as his gaze alighted upon the unexpected company in the room.

"-For your supplementary potions lesson," Snape snapped sharply at the same moment that Draco's eyes widened considerably in understanding.

Harry flushed and fixed his gaze on the ground, nodding stiffly. "Yes, err, that."

"You're taking supplementary potions?" Draco asked the werewolf tauntingly. He knew it was a lie, but it was nonetheless humorous to watch Potter's face go red with rage and not be allowed to deny it.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Harry snarled, green eyes flashing as he lifted his tired gaze.

"Five points from Gryffindor for language," Snape drawled helpfully. Draco barely repressed laughter at the look on the Gryffindor's face at that statement. "Take your seat."

"Have a nice lesson," Draco said casually as he hopped to his feet, watching the wizard sink into a stool at their usual table with an air of abnormal fatigue.

It was a week from the full moon, but Potter's behavior suggested it was closer. Perhaps he was sick?

_No. Not obsessing_, he reminded himself forcefully. It didn't matter if Potter was sick.

It didn't.

* * *

"Thank you," Harry murmured as the potions professor handed over a familiar vial of the wretched potion. "I - I haven't been sleeping well," he added suddenly, looking up to the older wizard hesitantly. "Madam Pompfrey had said, if I needed a dreamless sleep potion-"

"-I'm out of stock, next time you expect me to simply have remedies to all of your many ailments at your beck and call, keep in mind that I am not a healer Mr. Potter," Snape cut him off in a cold, quick tone of voice.

Harry heaved a tired sigh, not seeming to manage a look of anger as he staggered to his feet, struggling against his tired eyelids. "Thanks," he muttered again as he turned, stomping out of the dungeon and slamming the door behind himself with accidental force.

Harry drank in a slow breath as he leaned against the door of the classroom, allowing the remaining hint of Draco's scent in the air to calm his agitated inner wolf.

_So much for Malfoy not being a git,_ Harry thought grumpily as he pulled out the cork on the vial of Wolfsbane and took a drink.

He cringed as the potion hit him, grimacing. It worked its way down his throat, its horrible taste lingering as its cold burn seemed to pulse into his veins and burn his muscles.

He felt his wolf struggle against the potion, distinct feelings of betrayal pouring off of it in waves. Harry banished it to the back of his mind, hating the sensation.

He wasn't sure if the worst part of the wolf was its personality or its temper, but at that moment, Harry was too exhausted to put up with either. He reached into his bag and yanked out his invisibility cloak, pulling it over his head with a sigh.

He stomped up the Gryffindor tower, pointedly ignoring the few calls of greeting he received.

* * *

**NOTE ADDED 06/07/14: Harry took off his cloak when he left the dungeons, presumably, to all those curious.**


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

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**A/N:** _100 favorites and 200 follows... You guys rock my world. Onwards!..._

* * *

**Special Shout-Out:** Go read **Black** by **adVENTitiious** if you like some darker, realism artistic stuff. And if you love Sirius Black. Or if you just appreciate good writing. It is a brilliant, artistic, inspiring story.

* * *

"Hermione, when's the next blue moon?" Harry asked suddenly, setting the book he was reading down on his lap. The warm library was quickly becoming his favorite place, due to the quiet nature and lack of crowds. On top of that, he had found that books actually had a wonderful smell.

"I don't know, Harry. But you really ought to get your glasses back," she replied in a tired voice, and repressed a yawn.

"But I got my vision magically enhanced," Harry argued in a loud voice, drawing odd looks from the surrounding company. He didn't have many options to spread that rumor, and he had noticed that people seemed to scatter from the room when he raised his voice, so doing that served two purposes.

"And it appears your hearing got worse. Be quiet, or leave," Madam Pince snapped irritably from a short distance away, poking her head up from behind a bookshelf.

Harry mumbled a half-hearted apology before pulling his book up in front of his face again, pretending to read until the librarian ambled off in the other direction. Hermione cast a quick muffling charm around them once she was out of earshot, and Harry smiled slightly as he noticed a few people who had been sitting nearby picking up their things and wandering off toward a different corner of the library.

"Why is it we're looking into this again, Harry?" Hermione asked quietly as she thumbed through the pages of the werewolf book in front of her.

Harry shrugged. "Just curious, I suppose," he lied. "Remus had been telling me about how Sirius was able to help him and it just got me thinking." He didn't know how to explain his feelings toward Malfoy. He was positive it had to do with his transformation, that his werewolf was somehow influencing him, but he wanted to be sure. Maybe then he could find some way of reversing it.

Because he didn't like Draco Malfoy, for Merlin's sake.

"You're taking the Wolfsbane, right Harry?" she asked very quietly, looking up to him in a very serious way. "You aren't planning on trying something else somehow involving animagi? I know it tastes awful, but it really is the most reliable method."

"I'm taking my potion," Harry said quickly. "I'm just curious, is all. Honest," he said sincerely, popping an Oreo truffle into his mouth and flipping another page.

_A werewolf thrives in a pack environment. In lieu of a pack of werewolves, a werewolf may develop deep attachments to animagi. This is not seen to happen with non-magical creatures such as wolves or dogs. __The reason for this attachment is unclear, however it is noted that a werewolf can be influenced behaviorally by the pack. This has, in the past, been used to control unwanted aggressive and neurotic behaviors during transformations in which the werewolf is kept from human prey._

_It has not been shown that werewolves have any strong preference for one kind of animagi over another after bonding, however a werewolf does seem to instinctively bond to a canine animagi first if given the option. _

_In a werewolf pack..._

Harry sighed, flipping the page again. They didn't seem to mention an untransformed werewolf's response to their animagi 'pack' anywhere. It all had to do with transformed interactions.

"So, Harry," Hermione started casually, startling the werewolf into looking up, "there have been, rumors," she said casually, humming as she flipped a page again.

"When aren't there?" Harry muttered darkly as he ate another one of his truffles. He smiled at his candies proudly - he'd had Dobby teach him how to make them in the kitchens the other night.

If he couldn't have dreamless sleep potion, then he didn't really need sleep, he figured. And strangely enough, he wasn't feeling any ill effects, despite it being just three days from the full moon. Every time exhaustion hit him heavily enough, his magic sort of rose to the surface the way it had when he'd done accidental magic, and he felt okay again.

He looked pretty terrible, but then, that wasn't so bad. He could always use glamours. And his scar had gone oddly quiet once he had stopped sleeping and having the nightmares.

Yes, the solution was just not to sleep.

"Malfoy's been... Nicer, recently, wouldn't you say?" she murmured, jostling him from his thoughts once again.

He narrowed his eyes as her words sank in.

"No," he spat.

He had noticed the Slytherin had been oddly less hostile, but he was sure he was plotting something. Slimy ferret git was always plotting, no matter what his wolf said. Or thought. Yes, no matter what his wolf thought.

"Oh," Hermione said, pressing her lips together. "You know Harry, it's okay. And Ron would get over it," she said very quickly after a beat of silence, cheeks pink as she finished her sentence.

"What?" the werewolf asked, lifting his green eyes from his book and narrowing them at the girl in bemusement. Hermione had been very odd lately, and she didn't seem to appreciate Harry waking her up to read over particularly confusing bits of werewolf text and make chocolate deserts in the night.

Ron wasn't speaking to Harry for whatever reason though. Maybe it was because he'd finally admitted that Ginny smelled worse than a wet dog. So, Hermione ended up being his only choice.

"I just mean, if you and... Malfoy, were, I mean it would make sense," Hermione mumbled as she flicked another page in her book.

"If we were," Harry replied numbly, his inner-ramblings screeching to a halt as he finally focused on what she was saying.

The witch nodded.

"If we were _what_?"

"A couple, Harry," Hermione said in an exasperated tone. "I'm just saying, it's fine. It's all fine."

"We are _not_. And it is _not_ okay," Harry protested less sharply than anticipated, drawing a look of surprise from the witch. He gave her a look of distress and glanced back down to his book, tired eyes unmoving as he stared down at the page.

"You could tell me, if you were," Hermione said hesitantly, having expected an explosive rejection of the idea. She watched the werewolf tensely as he sat there in disturbing silence, knuckles white from where he gripped his book.

_It's okay? Hermione thinks it's okay? Ron wouldn't think it was okay. Hermione shouldn't think it's okay. He's a git to her. He's a git to me, he's a git to everyone. He's the son of a Death Eater. It's _not_ okay._

Harry looked up and gave the witch a slow look of concern.

She was clearly out of her mind.

"Hermione, I think you need some sleep," he suggested gently.

The Gryffindor witch blinked at him once, slowly setting down her book. "Harry, you haven't slept in two days," she said very gently. "I think you need sleep more than I do."

Harry glared at her. _He_ wasn't the one losing his mind, saying things like it was _okay. He_ didn't need sleep. "I can't sleep," he said brusquely. He then frowned - that wasn't what he had exactly been planning to say.

"What's keeping you up?" Hermione inquired, head tilting slightly to the side as she leaned back in her seat, expression contemplative.

Harry opened then closed his mouth, licking his dry lips. He watched the dust play in the light beside her head. She coughed slightly and he jumped, focusing once more. "Keeping me up? Dreams," he explained, waving one hand before crossing both arms across his chest, feeling a stab of defensiveness.

"Nightmares?" she asked.

"Sometimes, sometimes not," Harry murmured in response, both of his eyes drifting closed.

"So it is the nightmares, or the dreams, that are keeping you up?"

"Dreams," Harry blurted without thinking, eyes reluctantly popping back open. He watched the expression of the girl nervously. Her face was painted with confusion as she watched him. "I think the wolf is affecting them. Changing them. He likes people that I don't," Harry explained slowly.

Hermione frowned slightly at this and pressed both of her lips into a contemplative line. "Harry, lycanthropy is a warped extension of your own magical energy and soul. It's not a thing, living within you. It can bring things about yourself to the light, but unless you're transformed, it can't control how you think."

Harry shook his head. "You're wrong. You don't understand," he said impatiently. He shut the book before him and pushed out of his seat, swaying in place.

He was suddenly exhausted.

"You should go to bed Harry," she suggested gently, getting to her own feet and casting him a look of concern. He shot her a half-hearted glare in return.

"I know," he muttered, turning around sharply enough to make the room spin around him. "Thanks, Hermione," he added reluctantly, turning to face the witch slightly with a forced smile. "I'll stop keeping you up."

"Harry," Hermione started. The wizard took off, not wanting to snap at the witch for no reason whatsoever as unreasonable anger bubbled to the surface. _I need to sleep,_ he thought miserably, exhaustion making itself known. His whole body ached, his head throbbed, his eyes stung.

_No, I'll go for a fly._

He turned himself suddenly in the direction of the Quidditch field, struggling not to stumble over his own feet. He felt his glamour dissipate as his magic rose to the surface, awakening him like a splash of cold water to the face. He picked up the pace, quickening to a light jog as he tore into the Quidditch room, gathering up his broom and heading out on to the pitch, a spare snitch in hand.

The cold night air whisked around him, flicking up his black hair in every direction and whistling in his ears. He smiled, lifting his head up toward the sky and looking up at the nearly full moon. He laughed slightly, and gave a hard swallow.

He raised his hand, covering the moon with his palm.

It might as well of not existed, his hand covered it so entirely. He could have covered up ten full moons with just one hand.

He switched to using just the tip of his index finger to blot it out of mental existence.

It was so small, in the sky. So far away. Yet somehow, despite all the distance, it managed to successfully ruin his entire life. As if he hadn't already had it hard enough.

"What'd I do wrong?" he asked no one in particular. He dropped his hand blocking the moon, slowly tracing the edge of the scar on his shoulder through the material of his shirt. Rage curled up inside him, alive like a flickering flame.

It wasn't _fair._

He held out his hand still holding the snitch and let it extend its silver wings. Its shiny exterior reflected the bright rays of the moon and he smiled at it as it slowly lifted into the sky, seemingly confused by its dark surroundings.

Harry reached for his discarded broom and the snitch bolted. The wizard felt a wolfish grin curl up the corners of his lips and he laughed slightly, hopping on to his broom and pushing off the ground effortlessly.

The snitch took off into the distance, clearly sensing the intensity of the Seeker as it took off into the cloud layer, almost immediately disappearing from view.

Harry beamed, lying flat to his broom and taking off after it, tearing through the icy cloud layer. Bits of frost clung to the tips of his hair as he made it through to the top. He looked around, ignoring the glaring light of the moon and focusing intently on the hiding snitch.

He closed his eyes, straining his hearing to its limits.

Nothing. Its wings were silent.

He took in a slow breath and pinpointed the metallic swirl of scent that he had begun to identify as the snitch.

His wolf was alive, and excited. It had been so quiet the past four days, the wizard had nearly forgotten his presence. He liked chasing the snitch almost as much as Harry did.

It was maddening. Two adrenaline rushes at once. He spiraled toward the scent, heart beating rapidly as he spiraled through the clouds again, ignoring the numbing cold.

He smiled, letting a hand stray from his broom handle and extending it through the air, feeling the wind tear through the space between his fingers as he touched the clouds. He let out a laugh that was torn away by the wind and focused his gaze sharply on a distant glint of gold.

His night vision was not so much improved with the transformation, which for once made the chase challenging again.

The snitch darted for the shadows, seeming to realize how it had given itself away, and Harry dropped into a steep dive, the wind battering against his freezing skin painfully. He pinched his eyes closed, wishing he had brought his goggles, and sank into the dive, dropping into a playful spiral as he neared the earth.

Its damp, muddy scent forced his eyes opened as he neared a crash. He yanked out of the dive just in time, pulse pounding noisily in his ears as he drew in desperate, rapid breaths, still not forgetting his hunt for the seemingly petrified snitch.

He dragged his broom left, vision finally pinpointing the frantically fluttering golden snitch. It took off in the other direction, toward the end of the pitch. Harry laid flat to his broom, wasting no time in his pursuit. His fingers were numb against his broom handle as he forced one hand to lift, extending it through the air just ten inches from the desperately racing snitch.

Now seven inches, he pressed forward, stretching his arm as far as he could without shoving it out of its socket. The snitch was forced to turn as it reached the end of the pitch, and turned around the bottom of the metal hoops.

Harry looped around the hoops after it, growling angrily under his breath as the snitch used its superior turning ability to put distance between them. He gripped his broom with both hands, scrambling to his feet on the racing broom and balancing hesitantly as it pushed over ninety miles per hour, clearly having reached its maximum speed.

The snitch made to go up, obviously having grown tired from the chase only a foot from the ground, and Harry leaped off his broom. He tackled the snitch to the ground with him and rolled forward several feet, tearing up the soft grass beneath him and coating himself in mud.

He was breathing heavily as he retrieved the snitch with both hands from under his ribcage. He smiled, dry lips cracking as he did so, and sat up. His ribs and arms protested angrily, but he ignored them, and watched the snitch's wings slow reluctantly.

"Gotcha," Harry muttered breathlessly, his red, swollen fingers closed around the metal snitch as he staggered uncertainly to his feet. His entire body shot with protesting pain.

He winced, extending a hand slowly to his stinging ribcage. He'd landed sort of awkwardly on top of the snitch. It hadn't been a high fall to the ground, but he could distinctly feel some deep scrapes along his knees, and there was definitely going to be some bruising on his ribs in the morning.

Mud dripped off of his eyebrow, and he used one hand to brush the gunk off of his eyes. He limped across the pitch to his broom, which had come to a stop after losing its rider quite a distance away. He pulled it from the air, smiling at it thankfully as he started back toward the castle.

* * *

"How you do this is beyond me," Madam Pompfrey muttered angrily. "A broken rib, Harry? You know what tomorrow is. This is not going to make it any easier for you," the mediwitch lectured as she waved a wand over the exhausted-looking wizard.

"I know, I'm sorry," Harry murmured, eyes drifting closed as he laid down in the soft hospital bed.

"This is clearly at least a day old. You should have come to me at once."

"It didn't hurt this much at first," Harry protested, repressing a yawn to avoid the lecture about how he should be sleeping.

"When exactly did you do this?" she asked sharply.

"Um, tripping, down the switching staircases, yesterday," Harry said slowly, opening his green eyes and giving the most innocent look he could manage.

She narrowed her eyes at him, clearly disbelieving, but simply huffed, shaking her head and turning away. "You know, your father used to do the same thing, all the time," she said in what Harry would have called a playful tone if he hadn't known better.

"Really?" he asked curiously, head tilting slightly to the side.

She smiled slightly, before quickly schooling the expression and nodding severely. "Oh yes. Clumsiness must run in the family," she said as a way of explanation.

Harry smiled, glancing down to his lap as the potions began to take effect. He nodded in agreement, no longer bothering to repress a yawn.

"It must be those snitches that you keep in your pockets each time you trip, too," she said wisely. "Bad luck charms, most definitely."

"Oh, probably," Harry agreed vehemently. "I'll be certain not to carry them around anymore. Thanks for the tip, Madam Pompfrey."

* * *

**Guys, it's a full moon tonight. And Friday the 13th. It's spooky! Oh, and reviews make me feel fuzzy.**


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

* * *

**A/N:** _Onwards..._

* * *

Harry slowly started his way down the familiar dark path out the side of the castle, painful exhaustion and stress tugging at his limbs. He curled his hands into fists from underneath his invisibility cloak as the cold stung his knuckles.

The sun was just beginning to set over the castle, sinking into the orange, pink, and red sky. The moon was already up, staring teasingly down at the werewolf only to be brushed behind clouds every few moments.

He stumbled over a rock in the dim lighting but quickly righted himself, grumbling profanities. The tired wizard fixed his gaze on the ground, ignoring the setting sun and allowing the invisibility cloak around him to soothe him in the way it did. The buzz of magic that engulfed the cloak had been a source of comfort for the wizard for years, and it was one of the few things that hadn't changed after his transformation. The familiarity was oddly refreshing.

The stupid, useless _wolf_ was downright frantic. Harry got the feeling it didn't like the Shrieking Shack anymore than he did. Or, maybe it just knew he hadn't skipped out on his Wolfsbane potion - despite being tempted to - so it was condemned to another night of torturous nothing.

The wolf couldn't think that deeply though, so it was probably just scared of the shack itself.

It was dark, lonely. There was nothing to smell. There were walls all around and nowhere to move, and no one to interact with. The night stretched on endlessly.

He snatched up a nearby stick when he finally came to a stop beside the suspicious-looking Whomping Willow. Prodding a knot on the side of the twitching tree successfully paralyzed it, and Harry took that opening to slip into the hidden passage.

He yanked off his invisibility cloak, stuffed it into his bag and made his way up the narrow path and into the cavern that held the Shack's door. Madam Pompfrey was already there.

It was dark, underground, secluded.

It was a bit like walking into a giant coffin.

"I'll be back in the morning, as usual," Madam Pompfrey said in a gentle voice, startling him from his thoughts as she pushed open the door to the Shrieking Shack. It creaked quietly at the action, and she frowned, directing a spell at the door hinges as he walked inside mutely.

"Try to get some sleep," the mediwitch suggested as she began the reinforcement and protective enchantments.

Harry nodded, turning away and walking over to the sitting area. He half-heartedly tossed his bag into a nearby wardrobe.

He cast a quiet _Incendio_ at the fireplace and climbed on to the sofa by it, laying down with his knees pulled up to his chest and drinking in the smell of the firewood.

The fire was magical, and not burning naturally. He could still smell the moisture in the wood. It was from the Forbidden Forest. He wasn't sure when he'd learned what the Forbidden Forest smelled like, but it smelled a lot like magic. He wasn't sure when he'd learned what magic smelled like, either.

Madam Pompfrey bid him a good night as she finished her list of spells more quickly than usual. "I'll bring chocolate in the morning," she added as she stepped out.

Harry lifted himself upright on the couch reluctantly and offered her a strained smile of thanks as she shut the door behind herself.

The wizard curled up on the sofa again, green eyes flitting closed after a moment of watching sparks fly off the fire.

_Sleep, I can do that_, he thought as he drifted into unconsciousness.

* * *

The werewolf awoke sharply at the first spasm of pain in his abdomen, bolting upright on the couch.

Pain shot through the scar in his forehead as the second spasm of pain encompassed his body and he reached up a hand, cursing in frustration as he clutched it. The room spun around him tauntingly and a wave of nausea gripped his stomach.

His wolf was panicking. The pain in his forehead was impossibly worse than it had ever been, and images of a room he'd never been in before - flashes of rage that weren't his own - raced through his mind as he fought against hyperventilating. A cold sweat broke out in a film across his forehead and he swallowed thickly through his tight throat.

The transformation took an agonizingly longer time to set in than Harry was used to.

Spasms of pain would hit him, only to be immediately followed by a stabbing pain in his scar. He choked down the urge to vomit and cast a miserable glance over to the window, but couldn't see the moon from his angle. It was dark outside, and the moon was almost definitely up by now, so why hadn't he _changed_?

His internal wolf surged forward, knocking Harry out of primary control as his scar stabbed in pain again.

And then the transformation began.

It was undoubtedly the most agonizing pain Harry could have recalled, but he felt it from a distance as the wolf held control of the body. He was aware of the pain, and the scale of it, but didn't have to endure it even as his ribs began to crack individually.

The wolf absorbed the entire ordeal in relative silence, other than the tightening of his breath as his scar seared in pain, a flash of green light played across in his memories, and his spine began to shatter and reshape.

He shoved the wolf out of control as the pain of the transformation began to ebb, and was startled when he found himself looking through his own eyes again.

_Never letting him - it - do that again_, Harry thought as he staggered to his aching paws.

The large, dark wolf limped up the stairs to the far side of the sitting room and toward the bed in the room he entered, determined to sleep through the night for once. Pain seized his limbs as he reached the base of the bed, and he crumpled forward in surprise.

The wolf surged forward again with surprising vigor and rage, and when the black wolf opened its eyes again, they were glazed over with animalistic fear.

* * *

The werewolf flared his nostrils, stretching out his new limbs in a hesitant manner and letting his jaw fall slack so he could drink in the scents around him.

Empty, nothing. The box he was in had no humans. Woods, there was a forest, nearby. _Burning_.

Panic seized his insides. Something was _burning_ inside this box. Something was on fire, and fires spread. _He_ would burn. He had to get out.

The young, black wolf raced over to a seemingly open space on the far left of the room that showed a wide, open field. He barreled head-first into a thick wall of glass and stumbled back several steps, eyes wide with horror as he observed the window.

He hesitantly crawled toward the strange contraption, ears laid back with his tail low as he touched his nose very hesitantly against the cold, glass barrier.

He let a growl build in his chest, releasing it as a deep, rumbling bark of threat.

The glass remained.

Something probed at the back of the werewolf's distinctly canine mind but he ignored it, shaking his head to remove the flea-like sensation.

The smoke smell was still there, he had to get out.

The werewolf looked around the room, quickly spotting a closed door that didn't look as solid as the walls around him.

He broke into a sprint and barreled toward the door at full speed, leaping through the air at it when he was just a foot away. The door ripped off its hinges under the weight of the werewolf, with the snapping sound of splintering wood.

The wolf stood proudly atop the door, only to find himself in an unfamiliar, dark hallway. Flicking his ears back and forth and drawing in hesitant breaths, it was safe to say that the fire was not coming from there.

Pleased with this discovery, the black-furred creature loped into the hallway, turning sharply down the first open archway that he saw and hopping down a set of steps.

Out of the box, he was nearly out of the box, he was sure of it.

The human thing in the back of his mind stabbed at him angrily, creating a painful, unsteadying sensation. The wolf gave a whimper of pain and fell on to his bottom, reaching up a back paw to scratch at the base of his skull, as if the human in his mind was as easily scraped off as an annoying bug.

Getting to his feet, the wolf ran down the dark hallway and followed the scent of woods to an old, damaged door at the end of an unlit corridor.

The wolf paused, tilting his head in thought as he sized up the weak door. He pulled his weight back on to his haunches and leapt at it, expecting it to come crashing down with considerable more ease than the one upstairs.

He gave a yelp of pain as he was thrown back by a surge of magic, slamming solidly into the wall to the left. A ringing filled his ears as he got to his feet, ears pinned outward as a threatening growl built in his throat.

Releasing a snarl, the werewolf summoned a rush of magical energy and lunged at the stubborn door a second time, ignoring the electric-like shocks of pain.

After a moment, the barrier blasted him back again, this time eliciting a yelp of pain as his head smacked against the ground.

The wolf tipped back his head as he scrambled to his feet, loosing a desperate, frustrated howl.

Answering howls rose up from outside the door, to the wolf's shock. Several different ones, not more than a few miles in the distance.

The werewolf growled in determination, and looked to the ground, eyeing the wood floor curiously. He pushed one paw into the ground, dragging his long claws against the wood and watching it flake away like warm butter.

Giving a howl of delight, the wolf set about digging his escape underneath the door, tearing up the aged wood floor and straight down into the soft earth under the baseless shack.

He wriggled into the beginning of his tunnel, digging as he went and ignoring the strange prickling in the back of his mind as he made his way out into the open forest in a matter of minutes.

He looked behind himself and tilted his head in confusion as he noted he had seemingly crawled out from under a tree. The tree gave a slight shake and the wolf watched in utter bemusement as it swung a branch seemingly of its own accord.

He darted carefully out of the way of the swinging, angry branch just in time, only to be caught in the side of the ribs by the next one and flung over ten feet into the air. He hit the ground with a muted, painful thud, one of his front legs cracking noisily under the weight on impact.

He released a terrified whimper and scrambled to his paws despite the pain in the right front leg, relieved to see the tree had put enough distance between himself and it in one blow that it couldn't reach him anymore. He pulled the weight off of his injured paw and held up it to his body, lifting his nose to the air and drinking in the strange, foreign scents.

Wolves, just a few miles in the distance. Trees, grass, dark magic, and other unfamiliar smells. A giant, just on the outskirts of the forest. Or maybe, not quite a giant. But whatever it was, it wasn't prey, and he wasn't interested. An owl hooted overhead and he peered around in the dark, ears twitching as he listened for anything that might be nearby but masking its scent.

A thestral poked its head out from behind a nearby dark tree and the werewolf tilted its head, feeling a surge of curiosity as he eyed the fleshless, black creature.

It gave a nicker of greeting and took a few steps forward. He staggered back several steps, ears pricked forward and upright as he lifted his tail in an unsure fashion. His fur bristled slightly around him and he forced weight on to his injured leg, releasing a threatening growl.

The young thestral seemed unabashed and simply whickered, trotting toward him curiously and boldly poking him on the top of the head.

He flared his nostrils, drawing in the thestral's strange, empty scent very hesitantly as he pinned his ears down to his head, tremoring slightly in stress.

The thestral gave a playful whinny, shoving the wolf slightly and taking off deeper into the forest, bat-like wings fluttering.

The werewolf pricked both ears in surprise, taking a few hesitant steps after it before it disappeared from view, into the forest. Instinct gripped his insides and he shot forward, ignoring the sharp, stinging pain running up his limb every time it hit the ground in his three-beated lope as he gave chase to the strange creature.

He paused suddenly in his pursuit of the horse-like creature when a familiar, gripping scent slowly floated through the wind. The wolf stiffened, pupils dilating painfully fast as he turned his head in the direction of the taunting scent.

Every neuron in his body fired at once as a snarl built in his throat, the blood beginning to pump to his legs as he dropped into a crouch. He began to creep through the undergrowth toward it, dark fur blending seamlessly into the dark of the forest. He carefully weighed each paw step, not making a single sound in his approach.

The thing in the back of his mind lunged at him very suddenly and he crumpled forward to the ground, all thoughts of hunting vanishing. He reached up a back leg and scratched furiously at the back of his head, a threatening bark escaping him. He pulled his leg down, scrambling to his good three paws and turning, teeth bared as he searched hopelessly for the cause of the pain.

His vision swam before himself suddenly, and he felt the strange human in the back of his mind very suddenly, saying strange, foreign words into his mind. It was mad, the human was very mad.

The scent was closer now, and the wolf banished the feelings of pain and dizziness, turning sharply toward the scent and lifting his nose into the air, loosing an excited howl.

The scent of fear rose into the air almost visibly, but as the wolf made to take the first step toward the prey, he was shoved very sharply back into a deep recess of his mind, overtaken once again by the strange human.

* * *

_Shit, shit, shit,_ Harry thought hopelessly as the wolf began almost immediately wrestling him for control. He turned away from the distinct scent of an unfamiliar person and raced into the forest, ignoring the thorns that caught on his sides as he tore through the undergrowth, even as they began ripping off bits of black fur and blood began to drip off of his sides.

He ran until his injured leg gave out underneath him, forcing him to stumble forward and hit the hard ground with a muted thump.

He panted for breath, sides heaving with pain as he did so. The person seemed to have returned to the castle - whoever it had been - because the scent was now entirely gone. Perhaps he'd just put enough distance between them.

Harry lifted his aching head and glanced around his darkened surroundings, silently relieved that wolves had exceptional night vision.

He had no idea where he was, but he was quite sure he was deep into the Forbidden Forest. The wolf had found what was probably some form of emergency exit at the back of the tree, and had dug himself straight into the forest somehow.

Harry was just relieved he hadn't dug himself out on to the opposite side, and ended up on the grounds of Hogwarts.

Blood dripped from the cuts on his sides, and a few burrs remained stuck in his dirt-covered black fur. One in particular was sticking into his shoulder. He looked over to it and hesitantly stretched his muzzle out toward it, gripping the edge of the thorn very carefully with his teeth and pulling it out of his skin.

He howled involuntarily in pain, quickly dropping the burr and scrambling away from it as blood and a strange black substance began to drip from his shoulder.

_Must be some sort of magical thorn,_ Harry thought miserably, lowering his head on to his uninjured left paw as he waited for his labored breathing to slow.

A low howl startled Harry into looking up when he finally staggered to his aching paws again. He ears pricked in alarm and his fur bristled at the sight before him.

Just seven feet away sat an inquisitive-looking ruddy wolf. Harry blinked at her unsurely, quickly realizing that she wasn't a werewolf or an animagus as she took a hesitant step toward him, ears and tail high in apprehension.

Harry lowered his ears in what he hoped was a non-threatening posture, looking slowly to the ground and preparing to fight if necessary.

The wolf took a few more steps forward, eyeing the werewolf with a good deal of suspicion, before finally they were practically nose to nose.

Harry lifted his gaze hesitantly as the wolf gave his muzzle a few sniffs, rumbling a low sort of greeting as she glanced at the wounds marring his sides. Harry pinched his eyes closed as his wolf began to wrestle for control again, but shoved it back this time with relative ease.

The sun would undoubtedly be rising soon. That was probably why the wolf was getting weaker.

_What happened?_ Harry thought miserably, stomach clenching as he thought of what could have happened if he hadn't regained control when he did. The wolf in front of him startled him back to awareness as it took off just past him, straight toward the castle.

Harry watched her go unsurely, and glanced up at the sky.

The moon was beginning to set, so he began to limp slowly back in the direction of the Whomping Willow, now feeling quite sure that he had control over his wolf entirely.

He had a few splinters in his paws, he began to notice the longer he limped toward the castle. He was also losing a considerable amount of blood, as it dripped off of his sides from the cuts from the thorns. His broken leg throbbed angrily even as he kept almost all weight on his other paws.

_Madam Pompfrey is going to have a fit._

Without warning, his vision began to fizzle before him and he stumbled over a rock he'd failed to see.

A strangely comforting scent hit him as he collapsed straight to the ground, blackness from the corner of his vision consuming him entirely before he had the chance to identify it.

* * *

"Professor Dumbledore has requested that-"

"-I already know, he doesn't need to wipe my memory. And I don't want to be here when Potter gets up."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy I'm not allowed to let you return to class until you speak to the Headmaster."

"This is ridiculous," Draco snarled angrily. "I should never have even-"

Harry cracked open his aching eyes very slowly, quickly meeting the sharp grey gaze of Draco Malfoy, much to his horror.

Draco snapped his mouth shut, flexing his jaw angrily and glancing over to a window on the far side of the room, arms crossed over his chest.

"Why is Malfoy here?" Harry asked in the sharpest, angriest voice he could manage. He refused to breathe in, not wanting the stupid Slytherin's smell to stir any confusing feelings. He _hated _Malfoy. Why was he there?

What did he know?

He didn't - he couldn't _know._

_"_Mr. Malfoy brought you here," Madam Pompfrey explained, waving a wand over him with a frown of concern. "How is your hand?"

Harry glanced down to his previously broken hand and flexed it slightly. "It's fine," he murmured. He looked for signs of the splinters but was relieved to find none.

"Good, do you feel any pain?" the mediwitch asked as she began measuring out a vial of potion to the left of his bedside,

"I don't understand why he's - here," Harry croaked angrily, glaring at the blond Slytherin and struggling to banish the feeling of warmth at his prescence. Merlin's sake, the wolf wasn't even awake, so why was he relieved to see _Malfoy_?

Draco made a disparaging noise. "She just told you I brought your pathetic self here. What more do you need to know? And would you _please_ stop breathing through your mouth?"

Harry clamped his lips shut and reluctantly returned to breathing through his nose. "So why are you still here?"

Draco laughed humorlessly, flexing his jaw in obvious stress. "Because I found you horribly bloodied up the morning after the full moon. Dumbledore doesn't think I'm an imbecile, so he intends to wipe my memory. Exactly what I get for helping his golden child."

Harry opened and then closed his mouth, words failing him.

"I'm not his golden child," he said finally, voice hoarse.

Draco laughed. "You aren't concerned that I know you're a werewolf, just that I insulted you? Really Potter, you amaze me every day."

Harry's eyes widened and Madam Pompfrey shoved a potion into his hand. "That's enough, Mr. Malfoy," she said in a clipped voice. "Harry, please drink this," she added in a gentler tone - expression still stern. "Rest, I'll be just a moment, with the - yes," she murmured, seemingly to herself as she scooped up a clipboard and walked off toward her office.

"You.. Found me?" Harry asked after forcing down the potion, grimacing at the taste.

Draco sneered. "Trust me, I already regret it."

"How," Harry demanded, tone devoid of inflection.

"What?" the blond snapped.

"How did you find me?" Harry asked, green eyes wide and unreadable as he fought the growing exhaustion from the potion.

The Malfoy heir was quiet for a long moment, blinking unsurely at the werewolf before shrugging both shoulders, arms falling away from where they had been crossed over his chest. "I just happened across you," he lied. "The trail of blood helped."

"And you normally follow trails of blood into the Forbidden Forest?"

"None of your business what I do."

"Why didn't you leave me?" Harry spat suspiciously, sinking back into the mattress as his tired muscles began to give out beneath him.

"Why indeed," Draco drawled.

"Go to hell Malf-," Harry snarled angrily as the door to the Hospital Wing swung open, startling him into silence.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, and, Harry. It would seem we have much to discuss."

* * *

**Just wanted to say thanks for all the lovely reviews. I have been down in the dumps lately but they really make me smile. So, 1 Review = 1 Smile? Even if it's just to say 'cool', it makes my day.**


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